


Three Graces And A Muse

by fardareismai2



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 87,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai2/pseuds/fardareismai2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been seven years since Edward left and he's about to find out that things have changed in his absence. Now Bella is caught between forgiving her past or following her future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started from a discussion I was having with some friends one day about the fact that in both the books and fics, Bella always seems to forgive Edward so easily; whether it's for leaving her, an indiscretion, whatever. What if she didn't forgive easily, if at all?
> 
> This story would never have seen the light of day if not for the help of several incredible people. Gallathea, who beta'd early drafts and encouraged me to make it better. Chicklette, my cheerleader, hand holder, and all-around crutch. She is also a beta extraordinaire, who calls me on my bullshit and makes me delete adverbs.

_I try to make it through my life, in my way, there's you_  
I try to make it through these lies, and that's all I do. Just don't deny it.  
Don't try to fight this, and deal with it and that's just part of it.

_If you were dead or still alive I don't care, I don't care. Just go and leave this all behind  
Cause I swear I don't care._

_I try to make you see my side, always trying to stay in line, but your eyes see right through,_  
that's all they do. I'm getting buried in this place. I got no room you're in my face.  
Don't say anything just go away.

Apocalyptica _–_ "I Don't Care"

* * *

I looked at the invitation again and sighed. I wasn't in the mood to go to yet another blue-blood, hoity-toity art show, but I had been in town for a month, and regardless of my preferred method of spending my time, I still had to keep up appearances. After one month, people knew I was home, and I couldn't ignore the various invitations that poured in for _Ms. Isabella Marie Swan_ , heiress, world-traveler, philanthropist, and, most importantly for the society doyennes and their sons, single.

At least I would get to spend time with my sisters. Well, sisters in all but blood. Tanya couldn't make it, but I had a car picking up Rose and Alice at the airport and would meet them at the show. I perused the piece of paper in my hand. _E. Cullen_. I'd never heard of the artist before, but the invitation was from someone who donated a lot of money to the various causes I held near and dear to my heart, and made it possible for me to do my work, so I had to show up, at least for a little while.

I took one final look in the mirror and smiled, knowing my latest tattoo was bound to set off a frenzy of gossip and tabloid flashbulbs. Until now my tattoos and scars had been in places easily hidden by clothes. This one ran clear down my upper arm, and unless I wanted to wear long sleeves in the middle of a Chicago summer, it was going to be on display. Fuck them all. They wouldn't understand what it meant anyway, even if I translated it for them. Only one other person understood, but he wouldn't be there tonight.

I slid into the back of the limo, the feel of the cool leather strange under my skin, the effervescence of the champagne foreign on my tongue. A month back home, and I still longed for the feel of a different type of leather, and the burn of a certain cheap whiskey. I yearned for the heat of Africa, the freezing mountains of a Chinese winter, or the utter chaos of the Middle East. I wanted to be anywhere but here, in the cloying, humidity-drenched city of my childhood, and burial ground of my dreams. Still, here I was, putting in my time, paying my dues, as it were, and making sure the machinery that kept me on the move continued to do so. I leaned back and closed my eyes, remembering my last night in Sudan just weeks before. I allowed the lulling, gentle glide of the car to take me back. I could even smell the acrid smoke from the fires, with the underlying tang of diesel fuel. The only things that smelled worse than the burning trucks were the corpses.

_The SLA and government troops had clashed once more in the Korma region of Darfur. We were in a tent in a refugee camp, and tensions were running high. The doctors were steadily running through the gauze, sutures, and antibiotics we'd managed to acquire, treating both government and rebel soldiers as they came through. There was little else we could do. We'd done our part, and as the sounds of mortars and gunfire rang out in the night, desperate cries filled our tent. Fingers dug into tender flesh, and tongues danced across dry, dusty skin. Blood boiled and sweat oozed from our pores, as other bodily fluids flowed and combined, until that one moment of clarity, of singular sensation, that reminded us we were alive. In the preternatural stillness of the morning light, silence reigned over the area, and a solitary jeep made its way into the jumbled mass of tents and humanity, sickness and death. There were no long, tortured goodbyes, or longing glances back as the jeep drove off. There never were. "In this life or the next," that was all that needed saying._

I opened my eyes as I felt the car come to a stop. I took a deep breath and let the __façade__ of responsibility and civility appear on my face. Flashbulbs erupted as I stepped out of the car, but I was quickly hustled past the gossip column photogs, and guided into the lobby of a large building. A loud squeal pierced the din of the crowd outside, and I had only a moment to prepare for the assault, as a tiny, raven-haired girl launched herself at me.

"Alice!" I cried, and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, Bella! I've missed you so much!" I pulled back enough to see the tears shimmering in her eyes, and said, "No tears, you. I forgot my waterproof mascara, and Rosalie will kill you if I wind up looking like a raccoon."

She laughed her warm laugh, and behind her I could see the aforementioned statuesque blond walking up to us, an indulgent smile on her face as she watched the fairy-like Alice. Even as a child, Alice always seemed to have one foot in this world, and another in some other place. She could read people like nobody's business, usually knowing what they wanted before they did, and she was never shy about telling them so. I looked up and locked eyes with Rose, and I could see the understanding in them as she took in the ink on my arm. Alice may have always known or managed to suss out things about me, but only Rose, of all of us, understood me. Apart from my journals, she was the only one to whom I told everything. Sometimes, I think she understood me better than I understood myself.

"Bella," she said in her throaty voice that had always driven the guys wild. It was like cigarettes and whiskey, and promised untold things in the dark. Her supermodel beauty did nothing to dissuade those fantasies, but her brains and quick wits kept her from becoming another notch on someone's bedpost, leading her instead to academia.

"Rose," I replied, hugging her tightly.

Although I'd been back for a month, this was the first time I'd gotten to see them. Alice had just returned from Alaska, where Tanya was still compiling data on the effects of global warming on polar bear populations, and where Alice would return within the month because they could not bear to be apart for more than a few weeks. Alice could continue to write her book on interior design there, and work with her editor via email. Even when we were children, Alice and Tanya had always gravitated toward each other. Perhaps their shared circumstances created a bond, but whatever it was blossomed and grew into something much bigger; they rarely spent time away from each other anymore.

Rose, on the other hand, had been making the lecture circuit throughout various universities in the country, discussing her latest paper on quantum physics. I've never pretended to understand her work, but I'd always been incredibly proud of her, and got a kick whenever some hormone-riddled jack-ass would underestimate her because of her looks.

My parents, Charlie and Renee, had brought Alice, Rose, and Tanya into our home as foster children. Rose was first, when I was about five, then Alice at six, and then Tanya when we were eight. We were all the same age, and even though they had come to us with differing degrees of damage and trauma, we became as close as real sisters. The only reason my parents never adopted them was varying legal hurdles. Well, that was true for Alice and Tanya. Rose preferred to remain a Hale, in defiance of the people who'd left her body broken and barren before puberty. She told me once that she wanted them to know who she was when she became famous, to know that they didn't break her spirit. She didn't want to hide, and didn't want to afford them the opportunity to pretend they'd done nothing wrong. She was always the strongest of us.

"So," I began, "what exactly is this night of excess and poor taste supposed to consist of? Have either of you heard anything about this E. Cullen?"

Alice, of course, had. "His work has been gaining in popularity over the last couple of years, but no one knows anything about him. He's a bit of an enigma. He's never, to anyone's knowledge, been present at one of his shows before, and has remained mysteriously anonymous. No one can find a record of a living E. Cullen anywhere, although there are other Cullens scattered throughout the country, including one here in Chicago, but they have refused to comment. It's all very intriguing. I've seen his work in my clients' homes, but have never been to one of his shows. In fact, I think this is the first one he's done here."

I knew there were other Cullens. I knew quite well there were other Cullens, but I'd never heard of this E. Cullen before. In fact, before Alice's little information session, I hadn't even known if the artist was a man or a woman.

"Well, let's go see what this is about. Maybe we can duck out early, hit Joe's, and have some drinks."

"Oh God, yes," Rose agreed.

We linked arms and walked into the main hall. The sign as we entered informed us that the exhibit was entitled, "Three Graces and a Muse."

"Someone is feeling mythological," I muttered.

We each grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and tried to ignore the blatant stares from the guests already gathered as we wandered over to the first section of what appeared to be oil paintings. I was used to the attention that my social status provided, and Rose was quite used to the attention her looks garnered, but even so, it felt like every eye was trained on us. It was a bit disconcerting.

We approached the first section of the exhibit, an apparent diptych, and I heard our collective intake of breath. There, beautifully rendered in oil on canvas was a painting of Alice, Rose, and Tanya, lying on the grass, at the park near our home. Next to it, in equally perfect detail, was a painting of me. A chill ran through me as I looked at these paintings. We began to navigate the space, and soon discovered that the entire exhibit was comprised of paintings, sketches, sculptures, and photographic collages, of the four of us—always Alice, Rose and Tanya as the Graces, and always me, alone, the Muse. No wonder all eyes were on us.

I could tell that Rose was getting angry, while Alice was simply awed by the artistry of it. Me? I was quickly becoming sick to my stomach. This was wrong on so many levels that I didn't even know where to begin. Who the hell was this E. Cullen? How did he know us? In most of the pieces we were younger—the photographs primarily from our childhood and early twenties, like some bizarre retrospective—but there were a couple of sketches of me that I clearly recognized as recreations from more recent newspaper articles. Every single image was a moment in time of our lives, and it was too intimate, too personal. My emotions were laid bare, and I felt exposed and vulnerable. Obviously this was done by someone we knew, and possibly trusted. But this? It bordered on stalking.

I looked closely at the pictures once more. _Shit_. Could it be? Cold tendrils of panic started to wend their way across my heart and slither through my belly. It was much too familiar. I moved from one image to the next, remembering the moments. I could hear the click of the shutter, the zip of the film advance lever. I tilted my head and brought my face slightly closer to a painting, recognizing the brushstrokes, hearing the movement of hair across canvas, smelling the pungent odor of oil paint and turpentine. Too much. It was overwhelming. I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath. I pushed the memories back, back to the place in my mind where I'd buried them, where I'd buried him.

I felt, rather than heard someone behind me. I could have said I'd developed a sixth sense to danger, living abroad and doing what I do. I could have said I had eyes in the back of my head. I also could have said that years of martial arts training made me more attuned to those around me. Each of those explanations would have been a lie. I'd only ever felt it with one person before, a pulse—like a secondary heartbeat—that thrummed through my body at his mere presence. I took a deep breath and turned around.

I found myself face-to-face with the golden-green eyes and bronze hair of my nightmares. The beautiful angel that burned me as assuredly as any Seraph in the heavens could. I felt a cold fist in my chest as I struggled once again to catch my breath. I heard both Alice and Rose's gasps, as they too turned around.

"Hello, Bella." His voice flowed like honey. It was always sweet, his timbre at a perfect pitch, and the undertones hinting of something smoky and dark. It poured through the recesses of my mind, flushing out long buried memories, and feelings long since scorched from existence. It ignited anger.

The cold fist began to burn, until nothing but pain and fire radiated out from the center of my being, flooding through me until I thought it would incinerate my skin from the inside out.

Rose spoke first. "Edward Masen," she spat.

I felt my hand rise of its own volition, its fingers curling into a fist, before connecting with his nose. "How dare you?! Who the fuck do you think you are? What right do you have to fuck with our lives and put them on display?"

The silence in the room was tense.

He stood before me, his perfect face not so perfect anymore, as his blood flowed freely. He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth, trying to stanch the flow, which was quickly staining the front of his shirt.

His eyes flashed dangerously, and he took a step towards me. He looked predatory—like a lion that has scented its next meal—and I shivered involuntarily. I wanted to run, just like the gazelle would, but I was rooted to the spot, transfixed by the intensity of his gaze, his pull on me no less potent after all this time.

"Marie?" a familiar sounding voice called out, thankfully disrupting the moment. I turned to see who it was.

"Carlisle?"

"Oh God, Marie, it is so good to see you." He walked over to me, clearly oblivious to the scene unfolding. He gathered me into a hug, kissed me lightly, and then cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. "I just got here and as soon as I thought I saw you, I came over . . ." He suddenly noticed the tension, and turned to look at Edward. "Edward, what is going on here?" Carlisle demanded, and _then_ he looked up at the walls. "Oh fuck," he whispered as he looked at me and then back at one of the paintings. "Shit. Marie, are you okay?" he asked as he put an arm around my shoulders.

"No, Carlisle. I'd have to say I'm pretty fucking far from okay right now, and I'd like to go home."

"Of course," he said as he began to lead me out, shooting Edward a look that was both angry and sympathetic.

I heard a low growl come from Edward before he asked, "Carlisle, how the hell do you know my Bella, and who the fuck is Marie?"


	2. Chapter 2

_When you were here before,_  
Couldn't look you in the eye  
You're just like an angel,  
Your skin makes me cry

 _You float like a feather_  
In a beautiful world  
I wish I was special  
You're so fuckin' special

 _But I'm a creep,_  
I'm a weirdo  
What the hell am I doin' here?  
I don't belong here.

"Creep" - Radiohead

* * *

EPOV

A disbelieving laugh escaped her as she turned back to me. " _Your Bella_? Go fuck yourself, Edward! You lost the right to fuck _me_ seven years ago." Then she spun on her heel and left. With Carlisle. What. The. Fuck.

"Well, that didn't go quite as I'd imagined," I mumbled.

"What exactly did you imagine?" Alice snapped at me. "Jesus, you're deranged."

"What did you expect, Edward? Did you think she would see this and forget the last seven years?" Rose seethed. "Did you think that she'd be swept off her feet by your grand gesture? This isn't Austen. It's real life. Alice is right; you're deranged."

"I just," I began, as a waiter offered me a napkin for my nose and I pressed it to my face. "This," I started again, "this is . . . it's everything, Rose," I finished lamely. She snorted.

I growled at her. "Don't, Rose. You may hate me for a lot of reasons, but don't you fucking belittle this. It's my life story. It's everything about me, and yes, you guys too, but fuck! There was no me without all of you. Without Bella. Did you look at it? I mean, really look at it?"

Why the fuck couldn't they see it? It was in every brushstroke, in every sweep of the clay, in every swipe of the charcoal, and in every angle of the camera lens. It was every moment that shaped me. It was every look that defined my soul.

Charlie and Renee's home had been my haven—an escape from the drunken neglect of my mother. I have no doubt that if they would have fostered me as well if they could have, only my mother never lost custody. It was Charlie who taught me to catch a ball, to bait a hook, to ride a bike, and when the fucking time came, about the birds and the bees. Renee showed me that love did not have to hurt, that it wasn't always about bruises and cruel words. She was the one who opened the world of art to me. It wasn't my pathetic excuse for a mother, but Renee Swan who taught me to draw, to look beyond the practical applications of things. She gave me my first camera, and when budget cuts forced the school to cut the art program, Renee paid for private lessons. She was more of a mother to me than the bitch who birthed me ever was.

Rose, Alice, and Tanya were beauty, grace, and happiness come to life. They were a living example of those things, which was a good thing for me, because I sure as fuck would never have seen it otherwise. In spite of everything they'd been through in their lives, or perhaps because of it, they embraced life, sinking their teeth into it with relish. It was something I still struggled with, and except for when I was with them and Bella, the only times I'd been able to really let go were when I was stoned or drunk.

When I was a kid, I tended to withdraw from life, and existed with my head in the clouds. Bella was my tether to the world. She was always the one to take my hand when it was time to leave the park, because she knew I would forget to go home. She was the one who made sure I ate my lunch, and who reminded me to do my homework. She also made sure I checked my sugar levels, and took my insulin. It was always easy for me to get caught up in whatever I was drawing, or dreaming about.

And it was Bella who taught me how to love, how to give myself over to another completely. Rose, Alice, and Tanya showed me how to live, but Bella was the reason I did. My waking thoughts were consumed with her. Even before our first tentative kiss at fourteen, or the first time we made love on her sixteenth birthday, or our high school graduation, and our first year at Northwestern, she was my world. I lived and breathed her. The way her mind worked was fascinating, and with her stubborn streak, she would worry at a problem for weeks on end until she figured out a resolution. She also had the most generous spirit I knew—second perhaps only to Renee—but unlike Renee she wasn't a spitfire. She was gentle, careful, and tender. And once we were together? I couldn't get enough of her—her smell, her taste, the feel of her under my hands and around my cock, or the sounds she made as she came. I was hungry for her all the time. The only time I wasn't thinking about Bella was when I was painting or sculpting, although that's not exactly true, because half the time, I was painting or sculpting images of Bella.

When Charlie and Renee died, all of our lives derailed, but it was hardest on the girls. Although they left generous sums to Rose, Alice, and Tanya, and even put money in trust for me for school, the bulk of the Swans' estate settled on Bella, as did the demands of the society of which they were a part. The Swans shielded the girls from that "high society" to some extent while they grew up, opting to send them to the excellent public school in our district instead of some snobbish prep school, and taking family vacations, instead of leaving the girls to their own devices while they jetted off to live the life of the rich and bored. Family meant everything to them, and they instilled that in the girls, making sure that they understood that family was more than just blood. So, when Charlie and Renee died it left a gaping wound in the Swan family.

Then, about two weeks after Charlie's and Renee's deaths, I wound up in the hospital. In all the confusion and drama following their accident, I hadn't been paying attention to my sugar levels, and Bella hadn't been in any condition to monitor me. I felt unbearably guilty putting her through such worry. She shouldn't have had to be concerned about me during that time.

But it wasn't until three months after their deaths that reality of my situation hit me. We were at a party when I overheard a group of people talking.

"Fucking Masen. His life is set now. He doesn't even have to pretend for the parents anymore."

"Or wait for the inheritance," came the laughing reply.

"The guy is smart. All those beautiful girls, and he made sure to stick it to Isabella. He won't have to lift a finger for the rest of his life."

"And she's completely gone on him. My mother told me she passed up Yale and Dartmouth, just so they could go to school together."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I'd had no idea Bella had given up Yale and Dartmouth to stay with me. She'd always dreamed of going to one of them. When my rejection letters came, she told me she didn't get in, either. She gave up her dreams for me. To make matters worse, everyone around us saw me as a hanger-on, a lay-about looking to be a kept man. And why not? I came from nothing. I was an art major, and my girlfriend's dead parents were footing the fucking bill. I had no discernable career prospects and an alcoholic for a mother, who in my last year of high school managed to get us evicted because she was too drunk to go to work, and could no longer find any men willing to be used by her. I moved in with the Swans and stopped speaking to her. I felt shame flood through me as I heard those men speak, and I left the party without a word to anyone.

I walked for hours that night, ignoring my phone, which kept ringing until I finally turned it off. I bought a fifth of tequila and hung out with Jose, who really was fuck-all for company and always left me with a wicked hangover. Still, I needed something to dull the pain and the embarrassment.

I felt like my nuts had been cut off. It was fucking emasculating. I mean, what the fuck did I have to give her? I had nothing of my own. I was incapable of taking care of myself. In fact, at a time when I should have been the one taking care of her, she wound up nursing me back to health. Even worse, she'd given up her dream schools to stay with me, probably because she knew I couldn't manage to care for myself. Eventually she would come to her senses. Eventually she would see the nothing that I was. I realized then that I had to leave. I had to become someone Bella could be proud of, so I could come to her with something to offer, and not as a pauper. I knew she didn't care about the money, but I had to prove to her that I was something and not just a leech. Hell, I had to be able just to function on my own in the world, without landing in the hospital.

When I got back to the house in the early morning hours, she came at me like a whirlwind. She'd been crying, and was yelling at me about how scared she was. I'd run off without my meter or my insulin, and she was afraid I had passed out somewhere. She was frantic and hysterical. She hit me, and in typical Bella fashion, hurt herself doing it, but she wouldn't stop and just kept pummeling me and shouting at me, until I shoved her against the wall and kissed her hard. And then we fucked there, against the wall of the living room, and it was "I'm sorry" and "goodbye" all rolled into one, desperate and needy. I tried to commit it all to memory. My lips sought out her mouth, her neck, her breasts, wanting to remember their flavor, their texture, and the sounds she made when I nipped at them. I drove in to her and memorized the feel of her, hot and tight around me, and the clenching of her walls as her orgasm overtook her. Again and again I brought her over, because I couldn't know how long it would be, if ever, before I felt it again, until I finally fell apart inside of her and we slid bonelessly to the floor, a sweaty tangle of limbs and partially removed clothes. I pulled her close to me and whispered, "Mine. Always mine. Forever mine," hoping it would somehow brand her, mark her indelibly.

I left early, quietly, while she lay sleeping. I felt like the worst sort of coward, and fuck if I wasn't, but I knew if I talked to her she would argue with me, and convince me to stay. Then all of my worries, my ineptitude, my inadequacies, would eat at my soul until they destroyed us both. She was too good and perfect and giving, and she needed someone so much better than I was, and I had to try to become that man. She deserved no less.

No matter what I did with my life during that time, and believe me when I say I fucked a lot of it up, she was my guide, my memory, the muse for my work. She was Mneme, and through her, my entire life unfolded in oil, paper, clay, and contrast. How did they not see all this?

"I did, Edward. I did look," Alice said softly. "I get it, I do. I see it all. But Edward, _that_ ," she pointed to a portrait of Bella, "that is not Bella anymore. When you left . . ."

"You broke her," Rose interrupted. "You fucking broke her, Edward. I don't just mean you made her sad, or broke her heart." And Rose made air quotes around the words. "I mean you completely destroyed her. You have no idea how close we came to losing her," and at that she looked at Alice—who, judging by the look on her face, did not seem to know that fact, either—but then Rose continued, "and the way she's rewired herself? Edward, trust me when I say, you don't have the first fucking clue as to who she is anymore. Just stay away from her. You've done enough damage."

"Edward! What the hell?!" I turned toward the extremely loud voice of my business manager, who took a look at my face and asked, "Where is he? Where is the son of a bitch? I'll kill him."

"Emmett, it's okay."

"Okay? Did you see yourself? This is your show! Who the fuck did this? Where . . ." His voice trailed off as he realized Alice and Rosalie were still standing there. He looked thunderstruck. "Is this . . .?" he began asking, and I rolled my eyes.

"Rosalie Hale, Alice Brandon, this is Emmett McCarty, my business manager."

Emmett gulped. He fucking gulped. I couldn't help but wonder if _anyone_ would still be in my corner by the end of the night.

"Yes, Edward. Why don't you tell . . . Emmett? It is Emmett, isn't it? Why don't you tell Emmett who 'the fuck' did that to you?" Rose sneered.

Emmett's head swung back and forth between us. "Edward?"

"It was Bella, Em. Bella that . . ." and I trailed off, choosing instead to wave my hand in front of my face.

He laughed. He fucking laughed at me. "Dude, a girl did that to you?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes, and Alice suppressed a giggle. "Bella's got a mean right hook, Edward," Alice said.

"Hell, all that training she does was worth it just for that," Rose said, looking at Alice.

"Training?" I asked, ignoring Rose's jibe.

"Yes, Edward. Bella has been taking martial arts classes for years now," Alice replied.

"Bella? My Bella has been taking martial arts classes? She can't walk down the stairs without falling!" I wasn't exaggerating, either. Bella was the clumsiest person I'd ever known. It wasn't that she lacked grace, but she lacked self-confidence. No matter how often I told her she was beautiful, or smart, or perfect, she never saw it in herself.

Rose turned her full glare on me. "First of all, you self-centered ass, she is not 'your' Bella. You made that quite clear seven years ago. Second of all, like I said, a lot has changed. She's changed. More than you can possibly imagine. So why don't you just crawl back into whatever hole you've been hiding in for the better part of our adult lives, and fuck off?"

She grabbed Alice by the hand and the two of them stormed out. I looked over at Emmett, and his tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth watching Rosalie walk away.

"Give me a break, Emmett. I thought you were on my side."

"I am, man, but shit! I mean, I know you're all hung up on Bella, but have you taken a good look at Rosalie? _That_ is a woman, not the little girl in your paintings." He used his hands to make an hourglass shape, letting out a low wolf whistle, and I shook my head. I should have seen that one coming, but I had been so focused on Bella that I missed some of the other details. Typical.

"Jesus, Edward. You really managed to screw this up, didn't you?"

"I know, Em. And fuck! My face hurts. Can we get me some ice or something?"

"Sure, I think we can manage that. Not sure about finding you some new balls, though. Don't know where we'll find a pair of those, and I'm pretty sure those girls just walked away with yours."

"Don't fucking start, Em." I really wasn't in the mood for his shit. My head was still spinning from everything I'd seen and heard, and from Bella's sucker punch.

_You fucking broke her, Edward. . . . You have no idea how close we came to losing her._

I should have realized as soon as I saw the ink on her arm that she was different, but all I saw was the girl I loved. I didn't want to see anything else. I didn't want to see how she had changed, or grown without me. I didn't want to see her loss of faith in me. To me, she was unchanging, her love unwavering.

And how the fuck did she know my uncle? I'd never even met him until I found out my mother died, a year ago. He and my mother, his sister, had been estranged for years. After the family had tried unsuccessfully to get her to get rid of me, she ran away. He hadn't even known for sure if I existed until she died and the lawyers contacted him. Plus, he'd spent the last few years in Africa, working with Doctors Without Borders, not living in Chicago.

I knew Carlisle didn't recognize who Bella was from seeing my exhibit pieces beforehand. I hadn't let anyone except Emmett see them. He was the only one who knew everything, absolutely everything, about me. I told Carlisle about my work, and my life growing up, but I never mentioned any names. I didn't want him contacting them, or trying to dig into my past. I was grateful that he found me, and that I had family, but my past was my own, and he was no part of it. Why did he call her Marie? Marie was her middle name, and she'd always hated it.

Emmett and I sat on the couch in the office. I held a towel full of ice on my face, as I told Emmett what happened. "What the fuck do I do, Em?"

He rubbed his hand over his face. "Shit, Edward. Now you ask me?"

Emmett had been against my idea the entire time. Not against my work or my exhibit, per se, but against bringing Bella and her sisters in like this, making it a surprise. He kept telling me to just go talk to her. I'm not sure it would have made much of a difference. All I wanted was to have her back in my arms. In my mind's eye, when she saw my work, she would understand. We would talk, and she would forgive me, and she would spend the night in my arms, and I would relearn every curve of her body.

When I watched her arrive at the show, she took my breath away. She was always beautiful, but the years had ripened that beauty. The Bella I remembered was an early spring bud. The Bella who came to the show was a rose in full bloom. I just didn't notice the thorns until it was too late, and her fist connected with my nose.

Her limousine had stopped in front, and I gazed down from the window in the office. The first thing I saw was her long, shapely leg extending out of the back of the car, followed by her graceful hand as the driver helped her out. I'd spent enough time behind the camera photographing models to know that her dress was vintage Chanel. It was strapless, black lace, classic, and sexy as hell as it clung to her curves. Her hair was loose, a mass of dark brown curls cascading down her back. I was hard before the driver even shut the door behind her. She smiled at the cameras, but it never touched her eyes. She was doing her job. As she walked inside, my eyes moved to the security cameras. There, I saw the first real smile, as she hugged Alice close, and then spoke to Rose. I also noticed the ink on her arm. Sanskrit lettering, but I had no idea what it said. I'd make a point to find out, later.

When they made their way into the exhibit room itself, I snuck out of the office and watched them from across the room. I saw the look of surprise on their faces at the first display, but as they walked on, I couldn't see them. I followed them carefully, not wanting to reveal my presence yet, but as they neared the end of the exhibit, I couldn't help myself. The pull she'd always had on me was still there, and it drew me to her, inexorably, as it always would.

Then she turned around, as did Rose and Alice, and she fucking punched me. Hard. Still, I refused to hear her angry words. All I saw was the fire flashing in her eyes and the way her cheeks flushed with anger, her blood pulsing near the surface of her skin, its steady flow and ebb always calling to me, begging me to accelerate it, to make it thrum and throb and surge through all the pleasurable places in her body. I wanted. I'd waited seven long years, and I wanted her, even through the pain of my likely broken nose. I stepped toward her, drawn like a junkie to his next fix, and for the first time ever, I thought I might understand my mother.

Carlisle's voice cut through the moment, and then he had his hands on my girl. My Bella. And he was kissing her, stroking her cheeks, and taking her home, and what the fuck? All I wanted were some answers, and I got them. Just not the ones I was looking for. When Alice and Rose left, I realized I still had no clue why or how Carlisle knew Bella, but I knew that I didn't like it.

"Go talk to her, Edward." Emmett's voice pulled me out of my reverie. "Just go talk to her."

So I went. I hailed a cab and headed to the house I grew up in. The house I learned to love in. The house I walked out of seven years earlier. I paid the driver and walked up to it, pulling out my key to the gate, and hoping that after all those years, the lock hadn't been changed. I walked the path to the front of the house, noting the differences. One of the old oaks was gone, and in its place stood a young birch. Renee's roses were still there, but they lacked luster, as if they knew they were no longer as loved as they had been under her touch.

As I neared the front door, I looked up into one of the windows. There, silhouetted by the light, was Bella. My heart leapt into my throat, and I froze in place. I watched as her hands reached up and unzipped her dress, allowing it to fall gracefully to the floor, leaving her in nothing but stockings. Why wasn't she wearing anything under the dress? Then I saw movement, and a moment later I made out Carlisle's form approaching her, I vaguely noticed the bottle and glasses in his hands, as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her neck, his arms pulling her close.

I thought I had been prepared for almost anything. I was so very wrong. Watching them gutted me. I couldn't look anymore. I staggered over to one of the giant old oaks, and unleashed my pain. Over and over and over.


	3. Chapter 3

_When something's dark, let me shed a little light on it._  
When something's cold, let me put a little fire on it.  
If something's old, I wanna put a bit of shine on it.  
When somethings gone, I wanna fight to get it back again.

_. . ._

_When something's broke, I wanna put a bit of fixin on it._  
When something's bored, I wanna put a little exciting on it.  
If something's low, I wanna put a little high on it.  
When something's lost, I wanna fight to get it back again.

"The Fixer" - Pearl Jam

* * *

APOV

The car door shut behind us, and the driver began to ease the limo away from the curb. Rose's hands were shaking as she poured herself a drink. She took a large swallow, then laid her head back against the seat, her eyes closed.

I watched my sister's beautiful face. I knew she was hiding something. She let it slip while yelling at Edward. She knew I heard, and I knew she would tell me, but she needed a moment to process. It wasn't often that Rose lost her composure like she had with Edward.

Rose was always quick to anger, but kept a tight rein on her emotions during a fight, using her impressive logic and scientific mind to dissect your side of the argument, leaving you wondering how you ever thought you were right in the first place. With Edward, however, she let her pain show: the pain of watching our sister's heart shatter, the pain of feeling utterly incapable of helping, and the pain of losing a brother, because that's exactly what Edward had been to us. He hadn't just abandoned Bella; he'd abandoned us as well.

I sent Tanya a quick text message, informing her that Edward was back and that I would call her soon. I knew she would be on pins and needles, but I needed to talk to Rose before I called Tanya.

"It was only the once," Rose said quietly, as she opened her eyes to look at me.

"When?"

"About a year after he left. You and Tanya took your first trip to Alaska, remember?"

I nodded. Tanya had hoped to find out something about her maternal grandparents, but all she knew was that they hailed from Denali, Alaska. We never did find them, but we fell in love with the beauty and wildness of Alaska and, eventually, made it our home.

"What happened?" I asked.

Rose sighed. "She finally agreed to try dating. She went out with Mike. Do you remember Mike Newton? We thought he was a nice enough guy. Anyway, I had a date that night as well and didn't come home until morning." Rose was always unabashed about her sexuality, and was as willing as any guy to have a one night stand, provided he could keep up. "I went to her room to see how it went," she paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "and I found her sprawled across the bed, lying in a puddle of vomit, with an empty bottle of Xanax and a bottle of vodka next to her."

Tears were falling down my cheeks, silently, as Rose continued talking.

"I called Peter, and he got her admitted to the hospital under a different name, so the press wouldn't get a hold of the story. Just what she'd need, right? A headline screaming, "Socialite ODs Over Broken Heart!" Peter said that it was lucky she threw up, since a lot of the medication came up with it, otherwise she probably would have been dead when I found her. There was no getting around the three-day mandatory hold for a psych evaluation, but she convinced them that it was accidental, and that she had no intention of killing herself. I knew she was lying, but when we got home, she promised me it would never happen again."

"Why, Rose? Why after all that time?"

"The date didn't go very well. She tried to get intimate with him, you know? Get back in the saddle, so to speak? But she said that she just froze, she couldn't do it, and his reaction wasn't so great, I guess. Then she said was already dead inside, so what did it matter if she was dead on the outside, too. But seeing what it did to me, and knowing what it would do to you and Tanya, she promised she would never do it again, as long as I promised not to tell the two of you. Bella never breaks her promises, so I didn't say anything." She took another sip of her drink, and fell silent.

"And this guy Carlisle?" I asked, knowing Rose would know. Bella always told her everything. When I was younger it hurt, but I realized it was because Rose would never judge her, or try to make her do something she didn't want to do, and I had a tendency to push people into doing what I thought was best for them.

"She met him in Africa a few years ago. I don't think she's seen him in a while, though. If she has, she hasn't told me about it." I snorted in disbelief. "You know, it's not like she gives me a play by play of every single one of her encounters, just the important stuff. What I want to know is: how does he know Edward?"

My phone chirped. "You'd better answer it. Tanya is probably going nuts by now." Rose teased.

I answered the phone and told Tanya everything. If I thought Rose was angry, it was nothing compared to Tanya, and frankly, I was glad she was still home, or I would have had to worry about Edward losing body parts.

I thought back on Edward's work, and was amazed, angry, and embarrassed all at once. I was amazed by the depth of his talent, and although I remembered that he was a good artist and photographer when we were younger, his gift had still been raw. Clearly, it had matured. Of course, all the photography at the show had come from our youth, so there was no real sense of progression there, but his other works were exceptional. One sculpture of Bella, a reclining nude, actually _felt_ like he'd been making love to her with his hands as he created it. One arm was over her head, her face turned into it, as if smothering a moan. You could almost see him moving over her. It was sensual and erotic.

I was also very embarrassed because, as Edward admitted, this wasn't only a rendering of his life, but of ours, and to see my life on display like that . . . allowing others to watch as Tanya and I fell deeper into each other. It was beautiful, but incredibly invasive.

Finally, I was angry that he did this to Bella, that he felt he could just pop back into her life after all this time. Hearing what Rose told me only made me angrier. _He_ did that to her, and he had no right to come back now, making proclamations of love, because even without the words, it was clear that was what his exhibit was supposed to be. And I was also angry for myself, and Tanya, and Rose, because when he left, he left us too, and when he ran off, we got stuck cleaning up his mess.

We pulled up to the driveway, the gate swung open, and we began the long approach the house. Before we reached the front, however, I saw him. I told the driver to stop, and Rose and I both got out and walked over to where he sat, his back against a giant oak, his eyes staring vacantly. His hands were resting on his knees, and blood was steadily dripping from them.

"Edward," I said hesitantly. His eyes flicked in my direction, but remained vacant. It was too eerily similar to the way Bella had looked at me all those years ago. I squatted down beside him and took his hands in mine. He'd made hamburger out of his knuckles. I looked up and saw the blood on the tree. I thought that one of his knuckles, and maybe a finger, were broken. "Oh, Edward, your hands!"

He looked down at them, as if seeing them for the first time, and grimaced. "It's okay. I've had worse." I knew he had. I remembered the day he came to us, cradling his left hand because his mother had intentionally slammed it in the closet door, punishment for some infraction or other. Charlie and Renee called DCFS, but Elizabeth managed to convince them that it was an accident, and poor Edward had been too scared to tell the social workers the truth.

"C'mon, let's go inside and clean you up."

"No! No, I can't go in there." He looked at me, his eyes wide with pain and emotion. "She . . . she's not alone," he finally whispered.

"Oh," I said. "Oh!" as his words sunk in, and I folded him into my arms, because even though I was still hurt and angry, and would be for a long time, he was family. Families support each other. They love each other. They also fight, and they can hurt us in ways no one else can. In the end though, they welcome you home, because that is also what families do.

When we found out Bella wasn't alone, there was no point in staying to visit, or trying to talk to her. I managed to bundle Edward into the car with us. Rose didn't say a word the entire ride to her apartment; her lips a tight line as she pressed them together. She exited the car with a meaningful glance back at me, looked at Edward, shook her head and made her way up the stairs.

I asked Edward where he lived, but he didn't even answer—he'd shut down, withdrawn. I sighed and told the driver to head to the hotel. I usually stayed at the house with Bella when I was in town, but the hotel was a client and I took the opportunity to mix business with pleasure.

Edward was also silent the entire car ride, and in the elevator up to my room. As soon as we walked in, he started pulling bottles out of my mini-bar, not even reading the labels to see what they were, and he was wasted in no time. That's when he started talking about Bella.

While he talked I cleaned his hands and bandaged his knuckles. I realized that his injuries may not have been as bad as I originally thought, but he'd shredded the skin on his hand against the bark of the tree, and the bruises were ugly. He didn't even flinch when I dabbed the cuts with alcohol. He just proceeded to tell me how much he still loved Bella, and how much he missed Bella, until he got a little too graphic with his reminiscing about Bella and I had to shut him up.

When he started talking about what he'd seen in the window, tears began to fall and before I knew it, his head was in my lap as he cried. Huge, shuddering sobs wracked his body, and I couldn't do or say anything, only run my fingers through his hair. What could I say? You deserve it?

Finally, mercifully, Edward passed out across the bed. It took ten minutes of pulling, tugging and lifting, for me to get him undressed and under the covers. He was heavier than I remembered, but the movements were familiar, as over the years we'd all babysat each other after a bender. When he was all tucked in, I made my way to the small living room and closed the door behind me. One of the perks of staying at the hotel for "work" purposes was being put up in one of their nicer suites.

I sank down on the couch and grabbed the phone. It was late, even back home, but I needed to talk to Tanya, and I doubted she'd be sleeping anyway. She rarely did when I had to travel without her. The phone rang twice before her warm voice came across the line.

"Hey baby," she said. "Missing me?"

I sighed. "Of course I am," I replied and then filled her in on the rest of the evening, culminating in Edward's drunken pity party.

"Shit Alice," she muttered. "I want to kill him right now."

"I know baby, but if you'd seen him. He looked like her, back then."

Tanya sucked in a breath. "I wish I was there with you."

"Me too," I whined. "I really need you."

"Oh?" she asked, and there was no mistaking the playful tone her voice had taken on. "How badly do you need me?"

Her words and tone sent a tremor through me. Even after so many years, she never failed to excite me with just a touch, a word, or a look.

"Very, very badly," I moaned and my hand began to make its way down my stomach.

And for a while there was no one else in the world but Tanya; her voice heating my blood, her breathy moans causing me to shudder. Words spilled from her lips—beautiful and profane—directing me, commanding me, bringing me to the edge and back over and over, until I was trembling. My fingers met wet, hot flesh, and I imagined they were hers as she described in intimate detail what she would do to me when I came home. My hands moved over my body, hungry and desperate, until I was bucking on the couch and pleading with her, and finally, her voice hoarse with her own desire and arousal, she said, "That's it baby, come for me. Let me hear you."

I fell apart with her name on my lips, and I heard her follow me across the line. When I regained my breath I said, "Thank you, love."

She chuckled lightly and said, "Oh, the pleasure was all mine, baby." A moment later she said, "I miss you so much."

"I miss you more," I replied with our usual banter.

"Impossible. Now get some sleep."

Her words brought another smile to my face. "Yes ma'am," I responded. "I love you."

"Love you too."

I lay there another minute after we hung up, then stretched languidly before standing and making my way back into the bedroom. Edward was right where I'd left him, and was snoring lightly. I brushed my teeth and changed into pyjamas, before snuggling in with Edward. His arm tightened around me instinctively, and while I enjoyed the warmth and comfort, I missed the feel of a softer body against my back.


	4. Chapter 4

_(This is) our medicine. (This is) our time to..._

_Medicate you with me._  
Now as we lose ourselves in this and ignore  
that you don't even know my name. Medicate.

 _Come day, you'll say you cannot stay._  
What's more, I'll feel the same. It happens every time.  
So I've come to find everyone goes away. I'm destined to remain.  
You were never mine, so you were perfect.

"Medicate" - AFI

* * *

CPOV

We went out the back of the building to my car, thereby avoiding the cameras and paparazzi that flanked the entrance. My own parking spot was just one of the perks of owning the building that I allowed Edward to use for his show. I helped Marie into the car, and drove off. At first we were silent. I didn't know about her, but a million thoughts were tumbling through my head.

"Where to?" I asked.

"The Gold Coast," she replied, and then leaned her head against the window, gazing out into the night.

Edward had given me a brief sketch of his childhood, and I knew there had been someone he was deeply in love with; while I'd longed to know more, he was always somewhat reserved. Clearly, there was much I was missing.

"Marie," I began, but she cut me off.

"Bella," she said softly. "Here, I'm Bella. Isabella Marie Swan."

I swallowed hard. _Swan_. I looked over at the woman sitting next to me, and for the first time, I saw the little girl I'd met nearly twenty years earlier. "Fuck me," I muttered under my breath. Suddenly, all the cameras at the entrance made sense. I'd been back for about a year and a half and, frankly, had not sought out the society lifestyle that had once seemed so important to me. I was out of touch, but hadn't felt like I was really missing out on anything—until now.

"Bella," the name sounded foreign on my tongue, "how do you know my nephew?"

She turned and looked at me, clearly confused. "Your nephew?"

"Yes. Edward. How do you know Edward?"

She chuckled mirthlessly, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back on the seat. "Oh, that's just perfect," she groaned. "I need a drink and a change of clothes before we get into that, Carlisle."

"Maybe the whole bottle," I agreed, and continued in silence towards the exclusive neighborhood she indicated. We pulled up to a house, and I felt a tickle of familiarity. Long buried memories of cocktail parties, and the warmth of a certain arm on mine surfaced. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the ghosts and cobwebs of the past, as Mar . . . Bella gave me the code for the front gate. I pulled up the driveway, and she directed me to the back of the house.

I followed her inside. Other than giving me directions to her house, she still hadn't said a word. She carelessly let her wrap fall to the floor as we stepped inside, and her purse was thrown on the kitchen counter as we walked through. We passed the dining room, and as we entered the hallway, she pointed to the right and said, "Grey Goose."

I walked into the room she indicated, and flicked on the light—a large wet bar dominated one side. The cabinets were made of warm, rich woods, with beveled glass inserts in the doors. The refracted light bounced off of the lead crystal decanters, scattering rainbows across the walls and dancing along the granite countertops. I opened the freezer, and found the chilled bottle of vodka, the liquid inside moving with the slow slide of syrup. I grabbed two glasses and walked out, looking for her. I needed answers, but I couldn't deny that part of me needed a whole lot more.

I'd spent the last year or so trying to acclimate to life back in the States. Four years in the Sudan had completely eradicated the man I'd once been. The shiny floors and clean walls of the hospital I'd come back to were a far cry from the dirt floors and blood spattered canvas of the tents of our mobile hospital. Just coming home had been an experience. Hot showers, flushing toilets, soft bed . . . hell, the first week I slept on the floor, unable to fall asleep amongst the pillows and down.

And punctuating that time had been memories of _them_ —each of them tormenting me in their own way. Everywhere I turned in my home there was a memory of Esme, her caramel hair and soft eyes looking at me, full of love and desire. The two of us making love in front of the fireplace, in the shower, in the kitchen, hell, on the washing machine as the spin cycle ran. Interspersed with the vivid scenes of our life and love together were the memories of finding her hair in the shower, as the effects of the chemo and radiation wreaked havoc on her body, or of her lying on the bed napping, her head covered by a scarf, and her skin thin and papery, as her body succumbed to the cancer that ate her from within—the cancer that I couldn't stop, despite all my years of medical training.

Yet, all too often when I closed my eyes, there were dreams of Marie. Her soft skin under my hands and the warmth of her body as it slid against mine, our skin slick with sweat in the heat of the desert. I hardly even knew her that first time, but that night, as the fighting took place around us and death permeated the air and we sat huddled in our meager shelter, hoping just to survive, something sparked in me that I hadn't felt since Esme's death. For the first time in over two years, I'd felt alive.

The two of us clung to each other, instinct forcing us to seek out human comfort when faced with death—even from a stranger. I was swept with desire. We were on our knees, our arms wrapped around each other, and for a moment the world faded away. I couldn't hear the fighting, or the sounds of the dying. All I could hear was the pounding of my blood through my veins and the sounds of her breathing as she panted in fear. I couldn't feel the hard ground under my knees, or the knot on the back of my head where one of the soldiers had pistol whipped me. All I could feel was the warmth of her body pressed against mine and the crush of her breasts against my chest. I couldn't smell the gunpowder residue in the air, or the metallic notes of the blood that was being spilled everywhere. All I could smell was the fruity scent of her shampoo and the aroma of her sweat—flowers mingled with the gentle musk of woman. Then my mouth was on hers, desperate and demanding while hers tried to devour mine, and we were frantically pulling at our clothes. It was quick, needy, frenzied, and explosive, and after we climaxed, we both lay there shuddering, and I finally felt the embers of life being fanned hot once again after they had lain dormant for so long.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the memories, but as I walked out of the room and began to search for M . . . Bella, more memories began to assail me. Suddenly, the unusual, inlaid floor beneath my feet was strikingly familiar. I lifted my head and looked down the hall to the entryway, and remembered Esme kissing someone's cheek . . . Renee? I gazed at the staircase, and my mind's eye was seeing a group of kids watching us from between the spindles of the railing on the second floor. Four little girls and a boy and . . . Oh my god! How could I have forgotten! Edward! That shock of bronze hair, as unruly when he was a child as it still was, and those haunted and haunting green-gold eyes. My footsteps faltered, and I had to take a moment to lean against the wall as two separate aspects of my life collided. I took a deep breath, tried to steel my nerves, and continued, walking into some sort of sitting or living room as I followed the faint sounds of music playing.

My heart nearly stopped as I walked in. Standing in front of a large bay window, clad in nothing but her skin and a pair of stockings and heels, was Bella. Her rich, coffee colored hair fell in curls down her back and the sweet slope of her ass cried out to be touched. I groaned as I crossed the room to her, wrapped my arms around her, and buried my nose in her hair, smelling that fruity scent that she always managed to have, even in the sweltering heat of the desert. It was maddening and my body responded of its own accord.

"Mar . . . Bella . . . shit, I don't even know what to call you," I muttered as I pulled back.

She laughed, grabbed a throw off of the couch, and wrapped it around herself. "Sorry," she said gesturing to her state of undress, "but I can't stand wearing all that shit." She sat down and lifted her leg as she rolled the stocking off of it, and then did the same to the other. If I were a younger man, I don't know that I would have been able to show any restraint—as it was, I was nearly having a coronary—but right then, we needed to talk. I poured us each a shot of vodka, and handed one to her.

"Cheers," she said as she downed it in one smooth gulp. Now _that_ was the woman I knew. That was the woman who rode into the refugee camp with a truck full of supplies—handing out pocketfuls of candy to the children who invariably chased after her like some latter-day Mary Poppins—and who drank most of us under the table late at night as we gathered under the flickering light of a single bulb, powered by a lousy gas generator.

I refilled both our glasses. "So, Bella," I began, but I never got to finish.

"Carlisle, it's not that complicated, really. There was me, my sisters, and Edward, and there was me and Edward. We were like family, and I thought we were in love. Then one day, he decided he was through with us and he left. That was seven years ago, and tonight is the first time I've laid eyes on him since. Honestly? I wasn't even sure if he was alive." She took another sip, pacing herself this time.

"He was a fool to leave you, Bella."

She waved me off. "I've moved on. It's just that tonight was . . . unexpected. Now, are you going to explain to me how Edward has an uncle I never heard of?" she asked, avoiding the issue of her and Edward, but I knew there was more to it than what she revealed.

"His mother was my sister."

"But Masen . . ."

"Was, we think, Edward's father's first name, and she took it as her last name. We, our parents and I, never knew who he was. It wasn't anyone from school. Elizabeth was my older sister by three years. She was a senior in high school when she got pregnant with Edward. Our parents thought she was throwing her life away, and that she should have an abortion and go to college. They had a huge fight, Elizabeth ran away, and we never saw her again. Back then, it was easy to disappear. Now, every move you make is catalogued by computers."

She snorted. "Trust me; it has nothing to do with computers. It's a family gift. Edward managed to stay 'gone' just fine for the last seven years, computers notwithstanding." She finished her drink and poured another. "Sorry, go on."

"Elizabeth knew she was dying. She left behind a letter, with instructions to let her family know that she passed, but she left no information at all about her life or her child. All I managed to find out was that she'd had a boy, and that his name was Edward. I tried tracking him down, but it was a dead end. There was nothing."

"I told you," she said.

I lifted my glass in salute and then took a sip. "Finding him was a fluke, really. I was at a friend's house and he showed me his newest piece of art by an up and coming artist–"

"Edward Cullen," she interrupted.

"Exactly. There aren't many Cullens around, and I was pretty sure I knew them all, particularly those in the Chicago area. I put two and two together and, well, here we are."

"Here we are," she sighed and took another sip.

"I've been to your house before, you know," I told her.

"What?"

"I didn't remember at first. Your name, obviously, rang a bell for me, and then as we pulled up it seemed familiar somehow, but when I was walking down the hallway just now I remembered coming here once with Esme for a party. She and your mom were friends, at one point anyway. I saw you and your sisters . . . and a little boy I assume now was Edward, watching us from the top of the stairs." I took a deep breath and finished my drink. "I haven't thought of that night in almost twenty years."

"Esme . . . I don't remember that name," she said. "She was your wife?"

"Yes," and I poured us some more vodka. "Esme and Renee were friends at one time. Well, their mothers had been friends, so they were thrown together as children, even though Renee was older. When we moved back here after I finished medical school, they reconnected."

"I'm sorry, Carlisle, but I don't remember you guys at all, and I knew most of my parents' friends."

I can't say it didn't feel strange to be thought of as one of her parents' friends, given the nature of our relationship. "That's because Renee and Esme had a falling out soon after that party." She raised an eyebrow at me. "Don't look at me," I responded. "I have no idea what they fought about. She refused to tell me and, as far as I know, it was the only secret she ever kept from me. But now? After tonight? I can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she knew who Edward was." The thought had just come to me, but somewhere deep inside, I was pretty sure that I was right. I didn't know what hurt more, the fact that Esme may have intentionally kept me away from my nephew or, knowing about all the years of suffering Edward and I both endured until we finally found each other, and how maybe, just maybe, we might have been spared that. Then again, every one of those events had brought me to the place and time I was in, and to Bella.

Of course, now that I knew she was the love of my nephew's life, things became exponentially more complicated.

"Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward. Everything always comes back to Edward," she said bitterly.

"What happened tonight, Bella?" I asked.

She snorted. "You didn't see?" she asked. "In fact, how did you not recognize me beforehand?"

"No, I didn't see exactly what happened, and I didn't know about it beforehand because Edward never let me see what he was working on. Tonight was the first time."

"Oh," she said. "Well, since you missed it," she took another sip and continued, "the entire exhibit was of us, of me and my sisters, not just the one painting you saw, but all of the pieces. I kind of lost it and I punched him," she finished with a smirk.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," I joked. "Bella," I continued, unsure if it was really what she wanted to hear. "He did speak about you, but he never told me your name, and he never let me see his work. I had no idea. . ." I trailed off lamely. Really, what could I say?

"Don't," she replied harshly. "Don't tell me about him, or what he said about me." She tipped back her glass and emptied it again. "He has no right. He has no right to talk to anyone about me. He has no right to do what he did tonight." She stood up suddenly, and the blanket slipped a bit, exposing the curve of her breast. She pulled it up a little, but walked over to me, sat on my lap and grabbed the bottle, taking a large swig directly from it before tipping it to my mouth. My eyes stayed on hers as I let her pour the vodka down my throat.

She leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Let's go swimming." She stood up and let the blanket fall, grabbing my hand and pulling me along after her. "C'mon. Let's get wet," she purred.

I followed her like a puppy. I knew I shouldn't. I knew things had just become so much more complicated. I knew that this would hurt Edward. I knew that she was probably just using me to mask her pain. I knew I was potentially exposing myself to a broken heart. I knew I should just bow out gracefully. I knew all these things, and yet I followed her anyway, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the unspoken promise that I would feel the heat of her around me before the night was through, and that it would help keep the ennui, which had slowly been creeping back over me since my return to Chicago, at bay.

She walked naked and unabashed through her house as she led me to the pool. Without hesitation, she walked to the edge and dove in, clean and graceful, continuing to swim underwater until she reached the other side. She surfaced and stood, wiping her eyes and slicking her hair back. Rivulets of water trailed down her chest and dripped off her breasts. Her nipples were tight little peaks thanks to the water and the evening air, and they glistened from the moisture. My dick, which had risen to half-mast when she sat on my lap, came to full attention.

Bella looked at me, crooked her finger, and said, "You're too far away."

Without taking my eyes off of her, I slowly unbuttoned my shirt, kicked off my shoes, and took off my socks. Still looking directly into her eyes, I unbuckled my belt and slid it through the loops of my pants, before dropping it to the floor, and then I unbuttoned my slacks and lowered the zipper. Our eyes were still locked as I grabbed the edges of my shirt and slowly pulled it off my shoulders and arms, before hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants and sliding them, and my boxers, off at once. They dropped to my feet and I stepped out of them. I stared at her for another beat, letting her see what she did to me, daring her to stop me. She said nothing. Without a word, I dove into the water, and in seconds I reached her and pulled her to me before I even broke the surface.

Even with the overlying scent of chlorine, I could smell the fruity fragrance of her shampoo, and my cock twitched of its own accord, a Pavlovian response—it knew what that smell meant. My hands spanned her small waist, and although she leaned in, expecting me to kiss her, I bypassed her mouth and ran my nose along neck before nipping her earlobe and whispering, "You're perfect." I pulled back and looked at her once more, as I ran a hand up her stomach and cupped her breast. My thumb reached up to stroke her nipple, teasing its hardened little peak, eliciting a throaty moan from her. I continued to look into her eyes as I sank lower in the water and took a nipple into my mouth, sucking and nipping at it before switching to the other side.

I slid my other hand down and lightly traced my fingers over her hip and around to her magnificent ass. I released her nipple and began licking and kissing my way back up her chest, to her collarbone, and up her neck. I fisted a hand in her hair and stared at her for a moment. Her eyes radiated her need, and I captured her mouth with mine, demanding and taking and needing just as much as she did.

Her hands ran over my chest and back, trying to touch me anywhere and everywhere at once, before she reached down and took my length in her hand. I broke off from her mouth to groan out loud, and dropped my head to her shoulder as she took control of me. I allowed her to stroke me for a while, until I found my hips rocking into her hand. I pulled back, hooked an arm behind her knees, lifted her out of the water and carried her up the steps, setting her down on a lounge chair. I hovered over her for a moment, making sure this is what she wanted, but her hands reached out and wrapped around my neck, pulling me down for another searing kiss.

Then it was nothing but wet skin and hot mouths, fingers and hands, teeth and tongues, hot breath and the cool summer night. Her thighs against the sides of my head, writhing, and silky skin rubbing against my cheeks as she came undone on my tongue. Then a whispered, "Carlisle. I need you." Her hands pulled at my shoulders, pulling me back up to her, and guiding me into her.

"Fuck," I grunted, and stilled for a moment before the feeling overwhelmed me, my face buried in the crook of her neck. It had been so long since I'd been with her, and there'd been no one since. No one else held my interest long enough. I pulled back and looked down at her, making sure she was okay, and began to move with her. Gazing into her eyes, I could see such sadness in their depths, and all I wanted to do was take it away, but I didn't know how, and I realized that I didn't know this woman at all. I knew Marie, with the khaki pants and tight white t-shirts. Marie with mysterious connections that brought us the medicine and supplies we needed. Marie with her intelligent humor and tough exterior, who radiated a confident sexuality that made even the married doctors want her. Marie, who drove us into the empty night, outside the safety of the camp, and made love to me on the warm hood of the Jeep.

This, however, was Bella, not Marie, and I had no idea who she was or how to take away the sadness. All I could do was give in to her need, and my need, and let the moment take us away somewhere, anywhere that wasn't Chicago in that time and place. So for a little while, we were transported back to Africa. Back to a place and time when it was just us and the heat and our need, back to a moment when the rest of the world didn't matter. And for a time it was heaven, and we floated somewhere distant, where the only sounds were the soft slap of skin on skin, and our breathy moans. Somewhere that art galleries, mysterious nephews, and heartaches didn't exist. I felt her begin to tighten around me, and although I wanted to stay buried in her forever, my body responded to hers and sped up its movements. When I came, I was whispering in her ear, "Want . . . always . . . so good . . . need. . . more." And when she finally came, a heartbeat after I did, she called out my name. Yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm coming out of my cage_  
And I've been doing just fine  
Gotta gotta be down  
Because I want it all  
It started out with a kiss  
How did it end up like this?  
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss  
Now I'm falling asleep  
And she's calling a cab  
While he's having a smoke  
And she's taking a drag  
Now they're going to bed  
And my stomach is sick  
And it's all in my head  
But she's touching his chest  
Now, he takes off her dress  
Now, letting me go

 _And I just can't look - it's killing me_  
And taking control  
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
Turning through sick lullabies

 _Choking on your alibis_  
But it's just the price I pay  
Destiny is calling me  
Open up my eager eyes  
'Cause I'm Mr Brightside.

"Mr. Brightside" – The Killers

EPOV

I woke up sore and confused. I sat up and realized I was in bed with Alice. _Fuck_. I wracked my brain, trying to remember what happened. I remembered the exhibit, and Bella slugging me. I remembered Rose and Alice chewing me out. And then I heard a laugh. I looked down and saw Alice laughing at me.

"You should see your face right now! We didn't fuck if that's what you're worried about," she said.

I must have breathed a sigh of relief, because her next words were, "As if," and then she continued, mumbling something about men always thinking with their dicks. She bounced out of the bed and said, "I have to call Tanya."

As she rummaged through her purse for her phone, I asked, "So, you and Tanya are still together?"

"Yes, Edward, Tanya and I are still together," she replied as she finally fished the phone out. "Some of us actually know how to stick to a commitment." As soon as she said it she looked up, horrified at her own words. "I'm sorry, Edward. That was cruel of me."

"No, Alice. I deserve that. Tell Tanya 'hi' from me," I said as I made my way to the bathroom, not even bothering to try and hide my morning wood.

"Ugh, Edward!" Alice shrieked and threw a pillow at me, but I ignored her. It's not like she hadn't seen it before. We'd all grown up without a shred of decency among us, even if Bella blushed like mad all the time.

 _Bella_. I shook my head. I couldn't think about her just then or I'd throw up.

I leaned over the toilet and braced myself with a hand against the wall, hissing in pain as my knuckles reminded me that I had a lot to answer for. I angled myself over the toilet, because pissing with morning wood is a tricky thing, and as the stream began, I dropped my head to my bicep and replayed the night before.

After Alice found me beneath the old oak tree, got me into the car and we drove to her hotel, I proceeded to raid her mini bar and get completely plastered. Thankfully, I had my meter and insulin with me, something I'd finally learned to deal with over the years. Alice cleaned up my knuckles and bandaged them. Then I'm pretty sure I cried like a girl, with my head in her lap. _Fuck_.

I was vaguely starting to remember talking to Alice about Bella—about loving Bella, missing Bella, wanting Bella, how I remembered Bella. I think she made me stop when I started reminiscing about how Bella tasted. Hey, I figured we had some common ground there, but she told me she didn't want to think about her sister that way. Then I started ranting about seeing Bella with Carlisle—his hands on her, the way her body responded to him, the obvious intimacy between them—and that's when I started crying. _Yup, like a fucking a baby_.

I finished pissing and turned on the shower. As I waited for it to heat up I thought more about what happened.

Fucking Carlisle. How did he know Bella? And I meant, _how_ did he _know_ Bella? He wasn't just acquainted with her that much was clear, and the thought drove me mad. I suppose if I was honest, I would have to say that I didn't expect Bella to remain celibate over the last seven years—I certainly hadn't been—but it was one thing to think she may or may not have been with someone else—and I'd be a lying son-of-a-bitch if I didn't say that I was hoping she hadn't. But seeing it? That was a hit to the gut. Worse? Knowing that it was Carlisle, my uncle? That was too much to fucking bear. I dropped to my knees next to the toilet and threw up what little there was in my stomach.

After dry heaving a few times, I finally managed to drag my ass into the shower. I stood there under the hot water, as if it would somehow scald the images of Carlisle and Bella from my brain. I thought of the way she arched against him, reacting to his touch. I knew the feel of her body when she did that. I remembered the way her skin felt under my fingers and the flush of her flesh when I grazed her nipples. My skin, my nipples, my Bella, to touch, to torment, to excite.

As I dried myself off, I thought about the fact that I had to talk to Carlisle, but I also felt like I never wanted to see him again. I was a bundle of conflicting emotions. In the short time I'd known him, Carlisle had become very important to me. While I had not entirely opened myself up to him, the way I had with Emmett, Carlisle was family and had done everything he could to help me and make up for the sins of our respective parents. But I knew that talking to him in my current state would end badly. Very badly.

My temper was something I was sure I inherited from my mother; when I was a child, and then as a young adult, I kept it in check. I think that being terrified of my mother, and her retribution, prevented me from reacting to things with anger or violence. Instead, I would withdraw. What usually made others furious would cause me to turn inward and brood instead.

Until the first time someone tried to hurt Bella.

We were about thirteen, and Bella and I were walking home from school. Usually all of us walked together, but Rose was staying late at school for her science club, and Tanya and Alice both had the flu. I was walking along in my usual distracted manner, my eyes roving, never really watching where I was going, as Bella carefully guided me over the spots where tree roots had cracked the cement, or where a careless owner hadn't picked up after their dog. I noticed a particularly beautiful shaft of light spearing through a tree as we passed under it. The dust motes caught it, softened it, and scattered it like fairy dust. I could almost see the pixies flitting from leaf to leaf. I wanted to capture the moment in my mind's eye, so I could paint it later. I turned and started walking backwards, not wanting to miss a single detail.

Too late I heard Bella's warning, and I walked right into James or, rather, his bicycle with him on it, knocking him over. James was the school bully. Two years older than us, he and his friend Laurent, regularly picked on underclassmen. Usually, the five of us were together, so it wouldn't look cool for them to pick on a group of mostly girls. Besides, Rose had a wicked tongue and always left them feeling even more stupid than they were, and looking twice as foolish. The few times they'd caught me alone, I just took their abuse and handed over my lunch money. This time, however, it was me and Bella.

James growled as he pushed the bike off of his leg. "Fucking hell, Masen. What are you? Some kind of idiot?" He stepped toward me menacingly.

I stammered an apology, but it only seemed to anger James more. "You're _sorry_?" he sneered at me. "I don't think that's good enough, Masen. Not by a long shot."

"Leave him alone!" Bella shouted.

I turned to look at her, not wanting her to see what was going to happen to me. "Bella, run."

James whipped his head toward her. "Oh no," he said cruelly. "Bella is going to stay right here. Aren't you, Bella?" As if to prove James' point, Laurent stepped forward and grabbed her by the arms, pinning her in place.

"Let her go," I growled at Laurent.

James laughed. "Or what?" he taunted, as he walked over to them. He looked at me and said, "I'm just going to have a little taste." He grabbed a fistful of Bella's hair and yanked her head to the side, exposing her neck and causing her to cry out, before running his tongue along her skin. Bella was crying, but James and Laurent were both laughing.

I snapped.

They never saw me coming. Maybe they just didn't expect me to do anything. I don't know. When it was over, both of them were on the ground. Laurent's hands desperately clutching his nuts, and James holding his hand to his mouth, as blood gushed from his nearly severed tongue. I'd slammed the heel of my palm into his chin as he tried to lick Bella again, and as his jaw snapped shut, it caught the muscle between his teeth, the sharp enamel slicing through the meat of his tongue.

I grabbed Bella's hand and her backpack from where it had fallen to the ground, and we ran the rest of the way home. By the time we got there, I was starting to feel sick, as the adrenaline rush caused my blood sugar levels to drop. Bella was still staring at me wild-eyed as I drank some juice to compensate.

"Edward?" she asked tentatively. I looked up at her. "What . . . I mean . . . where did you learn to do that?"

I shrugged. "Charlie showed me one time." Her eyes grew wide, and then narrowed.

"You're lucky it worked, Edward. James could have killed you!"

"They were hurting you, Bella!" I shouted, but softened my voice when I saw tears forming in her eyes. "I don't care what they do to me, but they don't get to touch you. No one should ever touch you like that!"

Bella threw her arms around me, kissed my cheek and whispered, "Thank you, Edward," before running upstairs to tell Tanya and Alice.

That was the moment I realized I loved Bella.

Over the next several years, particularly after we got together, she used to tease me about the fact that I was so clueless about everything around me, except for the way other people looked at or touched her. She was right, and if anyone even made Bella uncomfortable, I would feel my blood start to boil. They say, however, that music soothes the savage beast. I suppose that made Bella my Mozart, because all she had to do was lay a hand on me and whisper that it was okay, and I would calm down, the rage passing through me.

So it was with good reason that I was afraid to talk to Carlisle right away. I didn't trust myself not to hit him. A good look at my knuckles reminded me of that very fact. _At least all you did was hit a tree_. And I supposed that was a sort of improvement.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, I discovered that Alice had ordered room service. "Help yourself, Edward. I'm going to take a quick shower, and then you and I," and she pointed her finger back and forth between the two of us, "are going to have a talk."

She headed into the bathroom and I walked over to the room service cart, lifting the domes and seeing what she ordered: eggs, bacon, toast, and oatmeal with two small packages of sugar-free maple syrup. I smiled. She remembered. I always loved those flavored instant oatmeals as a kid, especially the maple flavored ones, but they were so full of sugar I could never have them. Instead, Renee made me plain oatmeal, but generously sweetened it with sugar-free maple syrup. I poured some coffee, helped myself to some eggs and bacon, poured the syrup over my oatmeal, and began to eat.

Alice came out of the bathroom dressed in a hotel robe, her wet hair wrapped up in a towel. I poured another cup of coffee and asked, "Still lots of sugar and cream?" She smiled gratefully and took the proffered cup, before sitting across from me and fixing her own plate.

"So where the hell have you been, Edward?"

"Los Angeles."

"The whole time?"

"No. I came back to Chicago last year, to be near Carlisle."

"Who _is_ Carlisle? How do you know him?" she asked.

"He's my uncle."

She gasped. "What?"

"He managed to find me after my mom died. He's her brother."

"Wait, Carlisle managed to find you, and you've been here for a year, and you didn't see her? You didn't let us know? Jesus, Edward. Fuck!" Then she sighed. "We didn't even know if you were dead or alive."

I winced slightly. "I didn't mean for that. I just . . ." I trailed off as Alice gave me a pointed look.

"What did you think would happen, Edward? That we'd all wake up the next day and everything would be just peachy keen?"

"I explained it in the letter," I whined. I knew I sounded petulant.

"Really, Edward? 'It's not you, it's me?' Jesus, every girl has used that line and it means: 'it really is you, but I'm trying to be nice here.'"

I could feel my eyebrows trying to climb into my hairline as my eyes widened in shock and my brow furrowed. "Are you kidding me? That's not what I meant!" I stood and began pacing the room. "Is that what Bella thought? Fuck. I meant what I said in that letter, Alice. I needed to get out on my own. I needed to become someone Bella could be proud of."

Alice just shook her head at me. "Oh, Edward, Edward, Edward," she said in the same tone she would use to speak to a child, a foolish child. "She was always proud of you."

"No. No, Alice. I couldn't even take care of myself. Charlie and Renee died, and all I managed to do was land in the hospital. Bella needed me and instead of taking care of her, she was taking care of me." I was yelling now, but I didn't care. "And Alice, I know about Dartmouth and Yale."

Alice visibly blanched at that. "You weren't supposed to know about that," she whispered.

I gave her a cynical look. "So I gathered. How do you think it felt to know Bella put her dreams aside for me? How do you think it felt knowing that she was afraid to move away because she thought I'd wind up in the hospital? How do you think it felt hearing all those people talk about how I was using Bella for her money?"

Alice looked shocked. "What are you talking about, Edward?"

I turned and looked out the window, for once not enjoying the sight of the skyline, or the way the light played off the rooftops and office windows, and I ran my hand through my hair, undoubtedly making it wilder than it already was. I didn't answer.

"Edward, who said those things to you?"

I took a deep breath. "No one said it to me, Alice. I overheard them."

"When?"

I closed my eyes and whispered, "The night before I left."

"Oh God," she said. "Is that why you left, Edward?"

I shook my head. She didn't understand. Apparently none of them did. "No, Alice. It's not the only reason I left. Just the straw that broke the camel's back. It was just one more reason. But there were enough reasons already."

"Oh, Edward, don't you know that Bella never thought that? The money meant nothing to her and now it's just a means to an end."

I turned to face her. "What do you mean 'a means to an end?'"

"Oh, no, no, no! You need to talk to Bella, Edward. I can't tell you about her, about her life. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

"Alice, that's not fair!"

"I'm sorry, but it's her story to tell you."

I growled at her. "Alice," I said menacingly.

Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back. "No, Edward!"

"You know what happens when you try to keep secrets from me," I threatened.

"Edward," she warned.

I pounced. "You get tickled!" I pinned her to the bed and started tickling her mercilessly. When we were kids it always worked to get her to tell me whatever secret she was trying to keep.

"Edward!" she shrieked. "Stop! Oh God, please stop. I'm gonna pee my pants," she panted. Then her phone rang.

"Save by the bell," I huffed.

"You're a dead man," she warned as she grabbed the phone off the nightstand. She looked at the number, looked at me, then answered. "Hey, Bella."

My ears perked up.

"What? No! I'm only in town for two more days!" Alice stomped her foot, and I smiled because it was so like Alice to do it even though Bella couldn't see her.

Silence while Bella talked.

"No, it's not okay. I'm pissed."

Silence.

"I understand that it's important, but I also understand why you're doing this _now_ ," she whispered fiercely.

Silence.

"Right, you keep telling yourself that," Alice responded. "Fine. I'll see you in an hour," she huffed as she hung up.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, although it was clearly not.

"No. Bella's going out of town again. She just got back and now she's leaving again, and I don't know when I'll see her next."

I felt a stab in my heart. "Where is she going?" _And is Carlisle going with her?_

Alice was hurrying about the room, pulling clothes out of the closet before tossing off her robe and pulling them on—all pretense of modesty between us completely forgotten. She was muttering to herself as if she'd forgotten I was even there.

"As if I don't know the real reason she's leaving," she huffed. "Fucking halfway across the world and it's never far enough," she muttered as she looked under the bed for her shoes. I crossed the room and stood in front of her.

"Alice, where is Bella going?" She didn't answer me, still crawling around half under the bed, until she backed out dragging a boot with her. She sat on the bed and started to pull it on. I kneeled in front of her. "Alice!" I grabbed her chin and made her look at me. "Where is Bella going?"

She took a deep breath. "Afghanistan."

"What?!" I shouted. "What the hell is she doing there?"

"We told you, Edward. You don't know her anymore. This is what she does. She does charity work," she said, but made air quotes with her fingers. "Afghanistan, Sudan, anywhere there is trouble or danger, that's where she goes," Alice said with sigh.

"What do you mean 'charity work?'" I asked, repeating her air quotes.

"God, she'll kill me for telling you this," Alice said in resignation. "I don't know exactly. She doesn't tell us the details. She's mentioned groups like Doctors Without Borders and other NGO's, but she doesn't actually work for any of them. The truth is, I don't know what it is she does for them."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"That's just it, Edward. I don't exactly know, and she doesn't tell me. Maybe Rose knows more. She's always told Rose more. I just get the feeling that it's not always on the up and up, you know?"

I sat heavily on the other double bed across from Alice. What the fuck? Who was this Bella? My Bella had never been a coward, hell she tried to tell James off that day, but she also never ran headlong into danger. This was crazy. If she was doing things in these countries that were not on the up and up, she was actively courting death. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of what could happen to her.

Alice stood up. "I've got to go. I'm meeting Bella and Rose for brunch." Her face scrunched up as she looked at her empty breakfast plate. "Well, maybe I'll just have coffee," she laughed. "I programmed my number into your phone when you passed out last night. Use it, okay?" She kissed me on the forehead and headed to the door. "Oh yeah, Tanya's number is in there too. If you don't want her to come cut your nuts off, I suggest you call and start explaining. She's become entirely too friendly with some hunters back home and her skills with a knife are scary."

The door closed behind her and I lay back on the bed, trying to process everything I'd just heard. What was Bella doing? Why? None of this was what I expected. None of this was anything close to what I expected and I was completely thrown. Alice was right, I did have to talk to Bella, but I wasn't ready to yet. I would have to wait until she got back from Afghanistan. First, I had to talk to Carlisle . . . without killing him.


	6. Chapter 6

_Have you ever been alone?_  
Fighting your own war?  
Someone stole the life from you and now they're back for more  
Your heart is on the floor  
Detangled of control  
Oh I don't want this anymore

 _So I'll be sailing on_  
Out into Bermuda blue  
Compass needle breaks  
Like the heart I gave to you  
I've been laying down in the devils lair  
Sailing into the sun I'll be baptized there.

"Baptized by Fire" - Spinnerette

BPOV

I inhaled the dry air, thick with the scent of cooking; mint, coriander, saffron, and cardamom, mingling with the distinct aroma of tender lamb, basmati rice, and fresh baked lavash. The dust from the road swirled about me as I exited the car, carefully making sure my head was completely covered before I did. I entered the compound, and as the gate creaked shut behind me, I was greeted with a chuckle.

"Salaam Alaikum, Marie," the swarthy man in front of me said. "The hijab does not suit you."

"Walaikum Salaam, Marwand. And don't I know it," I said with a smile.

"It is good to see you again, Marie. Please, come in."

I followed him into the traditional home of a Pashtu tribesman. Well, traditional on the outside. Inside, it looked more like a cross between _Lawrence of Arabia_ and Circuit City. Persian carpets lined the floor, and the furnishings and décor were definitely Afghan, but there was a large screen television, satellite dish, and sporadic internet availability. The life of an opium trader in Afghanistan had always paid well, despite the recent downfall in prices. It afforded him an interesting niche in the highly tribal region of Afghanistan on the border of Pakistan. Courted by the tribesmen, the Taliban, and the U.S. government, Marwand was, for the time being, relatively safe from the violence and conflict that plagued his country. It also made his home an ideal way station for what we were bringing in, and taking out.

Despite the eight-year war, outside of the major cities there had been little headway made towards women's rights. In tribal Pashtu regions such as those on the border with Pakistan, Sharia law still held sway, and burkas were a regular feature. Education for women was almost non-existent in the region, and girls were still regularly forced into marriages when they were as young as twelve. Even in government, President Kharzai had succumbed to fundamentalist pressure and approved a Shia law code that legalized spousal rape, child marriage, and purdah, or the seclusion of women. In short, the region was still a complete clusterfuck.

Life inside of Marwand's house, however, was a study in contrasts. Although Marwand had three wives, and numerous children, he did not require his wives to wear burkas in front of guests, nor did he keep them in seclusion when guests were about, even if the guests were male. Two of his wives now lived in Europe, with several of their female children. It was the only way to ensure their education and safety. He still had to operate under the guise of respecting Taliban law, and he straddled a fine line. The short, squat, bearded Marwand was an educated man, who had left Afghanistan to study in Europe and returned only to have the Taliban render his degrees in Western Literature meaningless. He wanted to see change brought to his country, so he allowed us to use his home, but that was enough risk for him—he had a family to protect. Plus, the money we paid him definitely helped, particularly since opium prices had dropped.

So what was I doing there? I was part of an underground network that brought money and supplies to help women's organizations in the area establish schools, shelters, and rape counseling for women, something the Taliban strictly forbade, and with their resurgence in 2006, confiscation, detention, torture, and death were definitely risks. But it was worth it. I knew that the first time I saw a six year old Pashtu girl pick up a book. She'd never seen one except for the Qur'an. Her eyes widened as she reverently touched the pages, and tears spilled down her face as she looked up and thanked me.

I'd never been surer of anything I've ever done in my life.

Two days later, her mother came to us, begging us to take her daughter. Her husband had found out about the book, and had beaten the little girl. At first it made me reconsider what we were doing there, but then I thought of the look on her face when she held that book, and I thought of all the other girls who would get the same opportunity because of our work, and my misgivings gave way. The mother looked a little worse for wear herself, but her daughter had borne the brunt of his ire. She gave us the name of a cousin that lived in Islamabad who would take her daughter in.

I had expected my partner to refuse. He was always the voice of reason and caution in our dealings. He organized things with military precision, and although he never said which government agency he had worked for, I'd heard enough rumors to believe that he was ex-CIA. The scars on his body attested to a dangerous life, and more than one indicated he'd been tortured. Working in the relief camps in the Sudan, I'd learned a lot about what torture wounds looked like.

However, he took one look at the little girl, lying bruised and nearly broken in the back of a cart, and instantly said yes. In the end I was the one who, in hushed tones, asked him if it was a wise decision, and could we really do it? "We're doin' it, darlin'," was all he said, and we did. It wasn't something we did often, but we'd brought seven girls out of the region over the course of two years. Girls who were being beaten, sold, or forced into marriages with men five times their age.

After washing my hands and feet, I asked Marwand, "Is he here?"

"Are you lookin' for me darlin'?" he drawled from the doorway, and then his long legs closed the gap between us.

"Jasper," I murmured, as he gathered me in his arms. He smelled like leather and whiskey, tobacco and mint.

"It's good to see you, beautiful," he whispered in my ear. His breath tickled my neck and made the tiny hairs there stand on end, while the heat of it against my skin made promises of things to come.

We dined on lamb, rice, eggplant, a variety of salads, bread, and fruit, and ended it with a delicious fried pastry dusted with sugar and ground pistachios. We drank sweetened tea, made with milk and cardamom, and made small talk until the meal was finished. After Marwand's wife and children had cleared the remains of dinner, we got down to business.

By the time we were through it was late, and we had an early morning ahead of us, but sleep would not come easily for us. What we were doing in the morning was dangerous, and even though we'd done it before, it always made us twitchy. We needed to burn off that nervous energy. Channel it into something else. As soon as the door closed behind us, his lips were on mine, soft, warm, insistent. The stubble on his chin scratched me lightly as he trailed kisses across my jaw and down my throat.

My hands worked quickly to remove his shirt, then ran over the planes of his chest and muscles of his shoulders. All lean muscle, strong and defined. I felt the raised, cross-hatched pattern of scars across his back, before gripping him tighter and pulling him to me. His hand tangled in my hair and tugged, pulling my head back, forcing me to look up at him. His blue eyes looked into my brown ones, but their playful twinkling didn't belie the pain that lay in their depths. "I missed you too, beautiful," he said, before kissing me once more.

I groaned into his kiss, as his tongue slid into my mouth, expertly stroking mine, allowing me to taste his unique flavor, which never failed to excite me. My fingers made quick work of his belt, and his pants followed suit. I slid down his body, peppering his chest with kisses, swirling my tongue over his nipples, as I came to my knees before him. I kept my eyes on his as my mouth moved forward. My breath ghosted across his length and he twitched, a small moan escaping his mouth. I licked my lips before running my tongue around the tip. His eyes never left mine as I teased him with my tongue again and again, until I finally closed my lips over the top, taking him all the way into my mouth.

"So fucking good," he whispered, and I looked up to see him watching me. I moaned around him, _this was what I needed_ , and felt him spasm slightly in my mouth. His hand found its way into my hair again, and he set the pace, watching me the entire time as his cock slid in and out. I felt his muscles tense, his pace becoming more frantic, until finally I held still while he fucked my mouth. He came moments later with a guttural groan. I sucked gently as he softened, watching as he jumped slightly, not containing my grin at the fact that he was always so sensitive after.

"You're a little she-devil, aren't you?" he asked teasingly, pulling me up for another kiss, before swatting my behind, making me squeal. He laughed, then grabbed me and tossed me on the bed. I landed with a bounce, eliciting another chuckle from him, and a giggle from me. Leaning back on my elbows, I watched him unbutton my pants and tug them off, taking my panties with them. He slid back up, running his hands along my thighs and trailing his mouth after them, then over to my hip, where he used his tongue to trace the small kanji inked there. It was his turn to torment me.

He kissed, licked, and nibbled everywhere but where I wanted him to, until I finally growled at him in frustration. He just smirked at me. "Impatient, are we?" he teased. "How's this?" he asked, as his long fingers slid into me. My head fell back as I moaned, and my hips bucked against his hand.

"Is this what you need, beautiful?" His fingers moved faster, crooking slightly and hitting that sweet spot every time, until I was biting back a scream as I came all over his hand. But he didn't stop, his tongue taking the place of his fingers, working me until I was writhing and panting, teetering on the edge again, and crying, "More!"

His mouth moved away and I whimpered at its loss. "More? Greedy girl," he growled at me, before he crawled up my body and glided into me.

"YES!" I cried out as I pushed against him, moving to match his rhythm. Yes. I needed it. I needed to feel him.

I just needed to feel.

And then he stopped moving.

My eyes flew open, and he was staring down at me, his soft, blond curls falling across his forehead. He grabbed my face and kissed me, deep and tender, and then he moved . . . slowly. His eyes found mine once more and our gazes locked, our bodies moving at a new, unfrenzied pace. He pushed deep within me, circling his hips, then pulling out just as slowly. It was sinuous and sensual. A rhythm at odds with the pulsing of my blood and beat of my heart, but working in perfect, harmonious counterpoint, building and building until that final agonizing note that shattered everything.

When the final spasms of our orgasms rolled through us, and our breath returned to something resembling normal, Jasper released my gaze and rolled over. As I tried to figure out what had just happened between us, he walked to the dresser, dipped a towel in a bowl of water there, and brought it over to me, tenderly wiping me down. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask and a pack of cigarettes. He sat against the headboard and drew me to him, my back against his chest. He took a long swallow from the flask, then offered it to me. I took a hesitant sip. Whiskey was not my drink of choice, but I could appreciate the warmth, as the burn spread through my chest. I heard the dry scrape of a match, and the crackling sound of paper igniting. I felt him inhale, and then watched the lazy trail of "o's" that he sent forth.

"You gonna tell me what's got you so worked up?" he asked, his drawl slightly accentuated.

"Who says I'm worked up?" I replied, stealing the cigarette from him. I heard him tap another one out of the pack and light it.

"Don't piss in my ear and tell me that it's raining."

I swear Texas must have its own language.

I took a deep drag of the cigarette and exhaled slowly. "He's back." Maybe I imagined it, but I thought I felt Jasper tense.

"Edward?"

I nodded and said, "Yup," with a pop of the "p" at the end. "Only he goes by Edward Cullen these days. Edward Cullen, artist extraordinaire, who uses my life, my sisters' lives, to make his statement. I think he really believed I would be happy to see him. That I would swoon over his pretty pictures, and forget about the last seven years. He doesn't know a thing about me," I said angrily, as I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, gesturing to the split and bruised skin on the knuckles of my right hand.

"Yeah, well you should see the other guy," I snorted.

I stood, needing to move, to put Edward out of my mind by organizing my things for the next day, but Jasper's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me back down to him so that I was sitting across his lap.

"What are you doing, Jasper?"

"Giving you what you need," he whispered, as he kissed me. "Giving me what I need," he whispered again, as he laid me down on the bed and hovered above me. "Making you forget him," he growled, as he slid into me. And for the next couple of hours, he did.

I sat on the bed watching the dawn creep over the horizon through the open window, the first tendrils of pink light washing over Jasper's back, highlighting his scars. I softly traced them with my fingertip, wanting to know about each and every one of them. I knew where some came from, but not all. Jasper and I knew a lot about each other. He certainly knew me better than most people, Rosalie being the exception. Still, we held on to some secrets, because that type of intimacy comes with love, and that just wasn't what we were about. It wasn't something I wanted from him, or anyone else, for that matter. I'd had it already. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, either never lost it, or was a masochist.

I spent a little bit of time updating my journal while Jasper still slept. We were going to have to get moving soon anyway, so I figured I'd let at least one of us rest. I hadn't slept at all. When I finished writing, and while Marwand's internet connection was working, I checked my email. I responded to Rose, Alice, and Tanya, assuring them that I was fine, and then sent off a few more messages to people like my attorneys and business managers. Finally, I sent a copy of my latest journal entry to myself. I had a separate email account just for this. That way, if I ever lost my flash drive, I wouldn't lose my journal. It was all backed up at home.

I shut down the computer, and when I looked up, I found Jasper watching me.

"You really are beautiful, darlin', you know that?"

I felt my blush begin at my toes. It didn't matter how many times he told me I was beautiful; compliments always made me blush.

"How long have you been up?" I asked.

"A while now."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was enjoyin' the scenery too much," he replied with a smirk, and then stood up and stretched. I couldn't help but enjoy the scenery myself, as I watched his taut muscles stretch and flex. His morning erection stood proud, and he was entirely unselfconscious about it. My eyes followed the line of his body, from the cut of his "v," up his flat, muscular stomach, and over his beautifully defined chest. Jasper wasn't "buff" or "built," like the men who spent all their time in the gym. His was a body cut from hard work and a type of asceticism. He didn't shun sex or alcohol, as traditional ascetics do, but he certainly did not overindulge in food, nor did he live a life that would lead to him becoming, in his words, "soft."

I watched as he slipped his jeans on, enjoying the way the fabric encased his ass, and loving the fact that he always went commando. As he put it, underwear is just one more thing to pack. We got dressed quietly, and went out to join Marwand for a simple breakfast of bread, jam, fruits, nuts, and yogurt. After we ate, we headed out to meet one of our contacts and bring him the supplies and cash I'd smuggled in.

The meeting went well. It was when we were heading back that all hell broke loose. Somehow, we were spotted by some Taliban militiamen. Jasper expertly wove our jeep over the steep and winding roads, but they were still behind us. We finally doubled back through an old smugglers' trail, and Jasper sent the jeep off the side of the mountain, hoping our pursuers would believe we'd died in the flames. He pulled me into a cave, and I figured if the ancient caves of Afghanistan could protect the Mujahideen against the Soviets, and Osama bin Laden against the might of the United States, then we could probably spend an hour or two inside of one.

Jasper pulled me deeper into the dark, as the sounds of pursuing men and vehicles faded and muted. We were both panting, and adrenaline was coursing through our systems. As soon as the sounds tapered off, our mouths were attacking each other. Without any preamble, Jasper spun me around and pushed me against the rock wall. He yanked down my pants, grabbed my hips, and began to fuck me—hard. Each thrust pushed my chest against the stony walls of the cave, the limestone scraping my nipples. They were so excruciatingly sensitive by that point that I hissed with both pleasure and pain. His thrusts drove him deep inside of me, and his hand on my hip ensured that it remained that way. His fingers dug in, and I knew they would leave bruises, and it thrilled me even more. I could feel him all the way inside me, the thick, throbbing length of him, as he rammed into me over and over, feeding on our fear and excitement, turning it into something oh so much better. His other hand came around to my face and clamped down over my mouth, silencing the loud sounds I was making, which was a good thing, since I nearly tore my throat raw from the screams my orgasm ripped from me. I never felt more alive . . . never _felt_ more, than when it was like this, when it was dangerous, and Jasper knew it. He knew it because he felt the same way, and needed the same thing. In that, we were perfect. As he smothered my sounds, he was whispering in my ear. "I know. I know." And "Fuck." And "Need." And "Oh, fuck, fuck!" When he came, he bit down on my shoulder to stifle his shout, and although I knew it could leave a mark, I couldn't bring myself to care.

We waited until dark to make our way back to Marwand's, and arrived near midnight. Marwand was as close to frantic as I'd ever seen him, as his smuggling scouts had told him about the burning jeep. We stayed another night at Marwand's, making sure the Taliban wasn't still looking for us before we headed out.

Jasper was going to accompany me as far as Kabul, where I would board a plane back to the States. I didn't know exactly what he would still be doing in Afghanistan after I left, and over the years, I had learned not to ask. There were some things I didn't need to know. We were about a half hour outside of Kabul when I heard an ear-splitting, loud noise, and my world turned upside down. I think I blacked out for a moment, but when I opened my eyes, I was on the ground, looking up at what was left of our car perched over me. I could hear shouting and screaming, and the sounds of chaos. I brought my hand up to wipe my hair from my face and felt something sticky. I looked at my hand and saw that it was covered in blood. My blood? Before I could look any further, I heard Jasper over the din.

"Marie? Marie? God damn it, answer me!"

I could hear him making his way towards me, but all I could manage was a weakly whispered, "Jasper," in response. Apparently it was enough.

"Hey there, darlin'," he said with a smile, but it didn't touch his eyes. "You're gonna be fine." I saw his hands doing something on my middle, but I couldn't feel anything.

"Liar," I whispered.

"Don't you sass me, girl," he admonished. "If I say you're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine. Do you hear me? You're a fighter, right?"

When I nodded my agreement, he said, "Damned straight."

I felt cold. It was a hundred degrees out. Why did I feel cold?

It got quiet. I could see Jasper, and his lips were moving, but I couldn't hear anything he was saying. The world started to turn brown around the edges, and darkness crept in, until there was just a pinpoint of light. Right before the darkness consumed me, I thought I heard a voice say, "Bella."


	7. Chapter 7

_Practiced are my sins,_  
Never gonna let me win, aw huh,..  
Under everything, just another human being, aw huh,..  
Yeh, I don't wanna hurt, there's so much in this world  
To make me bleed.

_Stay with me,..  
You're all I see._

_Did I say that I need you?_  
Did I say that I want you?  
Oh, if I didn't now I'm a fool you see,..  
No one knows this more than me.  
As I come clean.

"Just Breathe" – Pearl Jam

* * *

JPOV

The moments ticked by like the countdown in a movie. _Tick. Tick. Tick._ Blood coated my hands and splattered across my shirt. Some of it was mine, but some of it belonged to what was left of our driver. My ears were ringing. A fucking IED. We'd hit a god damned road side bomb. It had torn the car in half, and as I crawled out of the wreckage of the back seat, shifting the driver's torso over so I could climb out, I began yelling.

"Marie? Marie?" I had to find her. "God damn it, answer me!"

Just then I spotted the rest of the car and ran over to it. I heard her whisper, "Jasper," and found her lying half out the window. A piece of shrapnel stuck out of her stomach and there was a gash across her forehead.

"Hey there, darlin," I said, attempting a smile and wanting to make her feel safe as I assessed her wounds. I pulled off the shirt that was tied around my waist and pressed it to her abdomen, trying to staunch the bleeding. I didn't dare remove the metal shard in case it caused further hemorrhaging.

"You're gonna be fine," I told her, and I didn't know if I was trying to convince her or myself.

"Liar," she whispered, and then I had to smile because that was my girl. _Fuck_. My girl. The thought hit me like a brick wall. When did she become my girl? I knew I had to puzzle that out, but just then I had to keep her talking, try to keep her from going into shock.

"Don't you sass me, girl," I said. "If I say you're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine. Do you hear me? You're a fighter, right?"

When she nodded I said, "Damned straight." Because she was. She was one of the toughest women I knew. She was a fighter and god damn it if I was gonna lose someone else to a fucking coward's weapon. Not again.

Only she was slipping away. I kept talking to her, telling her she was tough, that she had to fight, that she had to hold on, but I don't think she heard me. I saw her eyelids begin to flutter as she started to lose consciousness.

"Marie, please stay with me," I begged, and then it slipped out—the thing I swore I'd never let happen again, "I need you . . . fuck . . . please, Bella, please." But I don't think she heard a word I said.

Suddenly there were people everywhere. Military ambulances had arrived, and medics were working on her. A pair of hands pulled on me, but I resisted. "Please sir, let them help her. It's the best thing you can do for her right now." I knew they were right, but I was terrified to let her out of my sight.

I let them lead me away and allowed a medic to look me over while they worked to stabilize Marie . . . Bella . . . for transport to Bagram. _Bella_. I'd never called her that before, but I'd hoped it would get through to her, help keep her grounded and awake. Keep her with me.

Finally they moved her to the ambulance, and I practically knocked over the medic bandaging the cut on my shoulder as I ran to the vehicle, insisting on riding with her.

"Are you her husband?" The soldier asked as we lurched forward.

"No. We . . . we work together," I responded.

"What's her name?"

I hesitated, unsure if to give them her real name or her alias. "Marie," I finally replied. "Marie Higginbotham." She could tell them the truth later if she wanted. I knew her documents would back me.

"What are you guys doing here?" he continued.

"We brought in supplies for MSF . . . Medecines Sans Frontieres," I lied, knowing Marie's contacts would cover for us. At his confused expression, I clarified, "Doctors Without Borders."

The soldier looked at me suspiciously, but said nothing else. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, they rushed her in to surgery. I slid down the wall in the hallway, watching the doors swing shut behind them, and grabbed my head in my hands.

_Not again._

I don't know how long I sat on the floor, but all I could think about was the feeling that history was repeating itself. I'd worked so hard to make sure I'd never be subjected to anything like that again, yet there I was, sitting in another hospital and just . . . waiting. I needed a smoke. I stood up and walked to the doors, blinking at the bright sunshine when I stepped outside. It took a moment for my brain to register the fact that the world had not stopped just because she was hurt and possibly dying. It was shocking to feel the sun warm on my face, and hear the shouts and catcalls of a group of airmen as several nurses walked by. Life goes on.

Or it doesn't.

I was no longer sure.

I lit a cigarette and leaned against the walls of the hospital. I ran a hand through my hair, grimacing as it stuck in a spot matted with dried blood. I tried not to think. I didn't want to think about how Marie . . . Bella . . . fuck . . . how she'd worked her way into my heart. It wasn't what we were about. We were two fucked up souls and we happened to meet in the middle. We had the same interests and we both needed the rush of danger to feel alive again. It wasn't supposed to be more than that. Only when I saw her lying there, covered in blood, her pale skin even whiter than snow, I felt the axis of my world shift. I'd done everything possible to avoid that feeling, but there I was, going through it again.

I closed my eyes, only to force them open once more, because the minute they slid shut I saw _them_ —Maria and Peter. And it did not fucking escape my notice how similar the names Marie and Maria were. It was partly why I'd resisted her for so long, but then came that night in the Sudan.

I knew she'd been involved with some doctor, one of MSF's boys, but I'd been appreciating the sight of her in those shorts for months. What the fuck, right? I was a red-blooded American male, well, sort of American. I'd never actually given up my citizenship, although I hadn't been back in years.

But that day . . . I'd just dropped off a package for one of the doctors who worked with MSF. It was something personal, and I was doing a favor for my sometimes employer. Marie came in to the office screaming at someone on her sat phone. Apparently, a shipment of medical supplies she was bringing in was stuck in transit, the driver too afraid to come all the way to the camp. I don't know why, but I found myself volunteering to pick it up, even as a part of me screamed "fucking idiot!"

Marie insisted on coming with me. We'd spoken on occasion, even played poker once or twice during a late night lull in the fighting, but we'd never been alone together before. For some reason, however, we found ourselves talking and by the end of the day we'd formed an alliance of sorts.

From then on out, Marie and I began to work together. My job didn't require all of my time, although it paid exceptionally well, and it left me the freedom to do what I wanted on the side. I used my experience and contacts to do what the NGO's were afraid to do. Marie saw things the same way I did, and she had the wealth and contacts that allowed her the freedom to do the same.

Then one night in the Sudan, after we'd delivered a shipment of smuggled morphine, we were forced to hide. Pressed against each other in the cramped space, nature took over. Adrenaline and hormones collided and before I knew it, we were rutting on the dirt like our lives depended on it. It was the best high I ever had.

I spent the following week feeling as guilty as fuck. The best high I ever had should have been on my wedding day, but that night in Darfur eclipsed my own fucking honeymoon and I was wracked with guilt. I wasn't supposed to enjoy myself like that. Maria and Peter were gone and I wasn't supposed to feel so good anymore. I wasn't supposed to feel like I'd just died and gone to heaven. I tried to recall what it was like making love to Maria. I tried to remember the pleasure she brought me, but it was a dim memory in comparison to what Marie and I had experienced. Never in all my years—and I'd had plenty of fucking experience before Maria—had I felt what Marie did for me. Frankly, I didn't know if it was Marie, or the circumstances, or what, but that night in Darfur was a fucking epiphany.

After that, whenever Marie and I worked on something we burned our nervous energy with sex. Not just sex, but mind-blowing, earth-shattering, oh-my-fucking-god-is-that-even-possible sex. And every time we parted, I was consumed with guilt. Every time I swore it would be the last, because I was desecrating Maria's memory.

And every time I was drawn to Marie like a moth to the flame. And I loved the burn.

After that first night in the Sudan, I researched who she was. My contacts came up blank on Marie Higginbotham, but her fingerprints yielded more information. Isabella Marie Sawn—scion of the Swan Family fortune, and a mystery. Her early life was typical: school, friends, acceptance to a number of universities . . . she chose Northwestern, which was surprising given her acceptances to Yale and other Ivy League schools, but then things shifted. My sources informed me of a seventy-two hour hold in a psych ward. Her grades slipped. It would be easy to chalk it up to the death of her parents, but something didn't ring true.

I finally confronted her one night. I wasn't going to work with someone I couldn't trust. In our line of work, trust was everything. I couldn't risk anything from her past coming back to bite us in the ass. So she told me about her sisters, and her parents . . . and Edward. Edward: the man who I simultaneously hated and was grateful to. If not for him, I would never have met Marie, and yet I couldn't stand the thought of the pain he caused her. I wanted to kill him and kiss him in equal measure.

Of course, insisting that Marie come clean necessitated a quid pro quo.

So I told her what I could about my time working for the government, and what it cost me, and we found an easy rhythm. We relied on each other. We had each other's back. And, we understood each other in a way no one else did. We each understood what the other had lost and what it cost. We each understood that we were damaged. We were fucked up people in a fucked up world, and we found a little bubble of pleasure and solace in each other's arms.

And it worked for us. Until Edward came storming back into her life and I panicked.

I wanted to erase his presence. I'd hoped the years had erased the feelings she had for him, but her reaction to him, to what he'd done, made it clear she still loved him. After all, the line between love and hate is the thinnest line there is. You couldn't be as angry with someone you didn't care about as she was at him. No, only someone you loved, you cared about, could elicit those feelings.

For the first time in years I felt threatened. I knew Marie had other lovers, but I'd never considered any of them a threat to our arrangement. Edward, however, was a different matter. She was wound up tighter than ever, and I was determined to drive all thoughts of him from her.

In the cave, I was desperate. Fear drove me. Fear for our lives. Fear for the girls we were helping. Fear that Edward was going to take her from me. Fear. It ate at me. I hated it, and for a moment I hated her. I thrust her up against the wall of the cave, wanting to punish her for bringing me to such a pass, but then my need took over, and I found myself buried inside her, desperate for her, desperate not to lose her—not to the men with guns outside, and not to Edward Fucking Cullen. I had no idea if she heard or understood me as I muttered about needing her, but I did.

God help me, but I needed her.

I ground out the butt of my cigarette and felt someone approach. I looked up into the face of the man in front of me, and groaned. _Fuck my life_.

"Whitlock," he said.

"Black," I replied. Jacob Black, my liaison with the CIA. I hadn't seen him since I'd "retired" six years earlier.

"I hear you ran in to some trouble."

I just looked at him, waiting for him to tell me why he was really there. I knew it wasn't because he was worried about me.

His long, black hair was held in place with a band, and his russet colored skin seemed to absorb the desert heat. One of the only ranking, Native American CIA officers, Jacob Black had made a name for himself early on in his career. I would know. We were once partners, and together we'd accomplished what few other teams had.

Until his carelessness cost me everything.

He lit a cigarette, took a drag, exhaled and then, finally, spoke, "Bella Swan, Jasper? Are you fucking kidding me?"

I wasn't surprised that they'd figured out who she was so quickly. We were on a military base, with all the technology available. I'm sure a quick search of her documents showed them that it was an alias. She never intended to fool anyone but the locals, anyway. Hell, "they" may have known, from the moment "Marie Higginbotham" showed up at customs who she really was.

I shrugged.

"Don't you fucking shrug your shoulders at me, Jasper! Do you have any idea the kind of heat this could bring down? And if the press gets a hold of it . . . fuck!"

"What do you want from me Jake?"

"I need to know what you two were up to. We have to be able to provide a cover story if the press gets wind of this."

I laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. They could care less if Marie, Bella, actually lived or died. What mattered was how the press spun it.

"You can tell them she was working for MSF. I'm sure they'll back the story."

He looked at me for a moment and then said, "Shit, Jasper. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

It may have been six years, but Jake still knew me better than anyone else on the planet, except maybe Marie. Hell, he'd been my partner, best friend, he was even Peter's godfather. Only fuck him if he thought he could get close to me again. Fuck him, if he thought he could use her to get to me.

"Fuck off, Jake," I seethed.

He took another drag off his cigarette, his Rolex glinting in the bright, afternoon sun. "Easy Jas, it's just I haven't seen you like this since—"

"Seriously Jake, shut the fuck up. You don't get to say their names, do you understand?" I was centimeters from his face, and desperate to send my fist right into it. "So unless there is something else you want, get the fuck out of here!"

He took a step back, the momentary blip of sadness and regret replaced by the cool, collected façade of a company man.

"If she dies," he said, "a shit storm is going to rain down on you. I hope you're prepared." He tossed his cigarette down, ground it out with the ball of his foot, and turned and walked away.

I exhaled a breath I didn't even realize I was holding and made my way back inside. It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the cool, dark interior of the hospital, but I found my way to a small lounge and scrounged up a cup of coffee. Not twenty minutes later a doctor, Marine from the look of him, came out to talk to me.

He told me about her injuries, her treatment, and her prognosis. The shrapnel to her gut lacerated her liver and gall bladder, but they were saved. The bigger concern was the trauma to her head.

"She also has a small fracture in her hand—"

My snort cut him off, and he quirked an eyebrow at me. "That wasn't from the accident."

"Oh?"

"No, but apparently you should see the other guy and his nose."

The doctor chuckled. "Good. She's a fighter. She's going to need that."

When he finished, I asked if I could see her. She looked so tiny lying in the hospital bed. There were tubes and wires all over her, and the machine that was helping her breathe made a rhythmic, mechanical sound. Thankfully, it was only there to assist her breathing. She was breathing on her own, but because they had her in a medically induced coma, and because of her injuries, she was having a little trouble breathing completely on her own. I sat next to her, her little hand in mine, so limp and pale.

"You fight, girl, you hear me?" I demanded. I knew people in comas could hear, and I was determined to make sure she knew I was there and that I expected her to keep fighting. A nurse came in and handed me an envelope containing some of the personal effects Marie had on her when she was brought in: a watch, the ring she always wore on her right hand, and a flash drive. The rest of her things, like her passport and travel documents, were in the backpack I'd already recovered from the wreckage.

I turned each item over in my hand. The watch wasn't fancy. Most women with Marie's resources would have been wearing a Patek Philippe, or a Rolex, or some other luxury item. Marie's watch was a very practical, men's military-style watch. The tiny ring, which barely fit on my pinky, was a simple gold band—her mother's wedding band.

It was the flash drive, however, that sat in my palm and entranced me. I knew it held all her journal entries, and that knowledge made it feel like a lead weight in my hand. The tiny, sixty millimeter long piece of plastic, metal and silicone, was the key to Marie, to Bella. I stared at it for a long, long time, before my conscience got the better of me, and I slipped it into my pocket instead of the USB hub of her laptop, which had, miraculously, survived the blast.

I stood up, leaned over her and kissed her forehead. "Come back, darlin. I," the words caught in my throat. "Just come back."

I stepped back out into the hallway and dialed my phone. The voice on the other side of the line was thick with sleep. Well, there was nothing for it, this call couldn't wait.

"Rosalie Hale?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Jasper Whitlock," I replied, but before I could continue I heard a sharp gasp.

"What's happened?"

"There's been an accident."


	8. Chapter 8

RPOV

When the phone rang I cursed out loud, and swatted at the head between my legs, trying to squirm away so I could answer it.

"Don't answer, baby," was followed by a glorious swipe of tongue, and the phone was nearly forgotten, until the shrill sound pierced my haze once more.

"Fuck! I have to answer. No one would call this late if it wasn't important," I said. "C'mon, I have to answer."

He released me just enough so I could reach the phone. "Hello," I nearly groaned as I felt a finger slide into me.

" _Rosalie Hale?"_

"Yes. Who is this?" I was about to come undone and needed the call to end.

" _Jasper Whitlock_." I gasped aloud and with a sharp kick that landed somewhere soft and elicited a muffled curse, I managed to wriggle free and sat up straight.

Bella was with Jasper, that much I knew, and if he was calling me something was very, very wrong. "What's happened?"

" _There's been an accident,"_ he said, and proceeded to tell me about the roadside bomb and Bella's current status.

"Where are you?" I asked as I quickly got out of bed, pulled out my suitcase and began hurriedly packing.

" _Bagram Air Base_."

"I'm on my way. And Jasper?"

" _Yeah?"_

"Take care of her until I get there."

I hung up and started to dial again, but before I could a giant hand reached up and grabbed the phone.

"Baby, what's going on?"

"Damn it, Emmett! I need to call Alice and Tanya!" I shrieked as I tried to grab the phone back from him.

"Not until you tell me what's going on," he said, holding the phone above his head and out of my reach.

"Bella's been hurt. I've got to call Alice and go."

"Hurt? Go? Where is she?" Emmett asked as he handed me the phone. "How can I help?"

I held up a finger as I'd just gotten Alice's voice mail. "Ali, call me immediately. It's about Bella." I hung up again and hit a number on my speed dial. Jessica was a good friend, and happened to be my travel agent.

" _Rose? Do you have any idea what time it is?"_

"Jess, it's an emergency. I need to get on the first flight into Kabul . . . yes, Afghanistan . . . I don't care what it costs, just do it. I'm heading to the airport now." I threw the phone on the bed and started pulling on a pair of jeans, when Emmett grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward him.

"Rose, stop! Please, tell me what is going on! You're going to Afghanistan?" If I weren't so worried about Bella, I probably would have laughed at the picture of utter confusion on Emmett's face as he stood there naked in the middle of my bedroom.

I grabbed his face with both hands and looked in his eyes. "Bella was hurt by a roadside bomb and is in the hospital at Bagram Air Base. I. Have. To. Go," I said as I released him and continued getting dressed.

"Does Edward know?" he asked as he began pulling on his clothes.

"Why the fuck would Edward know?"

He shrugged. "I dunno . . . I guess . . . ah fuck Rosalie, I have no clue what to do here. Please tell me how to help."

"Drive me to the airport?"

"I can do that."

Ten minutes later we were on our way to the airport. Halfway there Jess called me and gave me my flight information, and just before we arrived, Alice got back to me. I filled her in, and needless to say she was bordering on hysterical. Tanya got on instead and together we decided that I would call them when I got there, and then we could all decide if they should fly out as well.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Emmett asked as we pulled up to the curb.

"No. I've only got a little bit before my flight, and you can't go beyond security anyway."

He grabbed my bag from the trunk of the car and set it on the sidewalk, before pulling me to him and giving me a deep, soft kiss. "Let me know if there is anything I can do, okay? Whatever you need," he said looking into my eyes. "I mean it."

I felt something skitter across my insides, but I didn't have time to contemplate what it might mean. "Thanks, Emmett. Really. For everything," I said, and then suddenly blushed at how the comment sounded.

He chuckled softly. "You're welcome." He kissed me quickly once more and headed to his car. "Rose?" he turned back to me. "This," he said pointing at me and back to himself. "Last night? Whatever it is, I'm not done. Not by a long shot." And then he got into his car and drove off.

I sat back in my first class seat, took a sip of my drink, and tuned out the drone of the flight attendants' safety spiel, feeling the burn the alcohol made on its way down my throat, as I replayed Emmett's parting words. I had to admit, I wasn't quite finished with him either, but events being what they were, I couldn't begin to even guess what to expect in the future. Until I saw Bella for myself and spoke to the doctors, I felt like I wouldn't know anything.

When I'd heard Jasper's name, my heart actually constricted. I knew he would only call if something happened to Bella, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to throw the phone across the room and ignore what he had to say, because I was sure he was going to tell me she was dead. I'd spent the last several years waiting for that phone call, and once again I cursed Edward for bringing her to that place—for fucking her up so badly, that the only way she felt alive was when she was narrowly courting death.

_Oh Bella!_

I dug in my purse and discreetly removed one pill from an antique pillbox. It had been Renee's and I liked always having a little piece of her with me. I washed the Xanax down with the scotch, knowing that I needed to sleep on the plane because God only knew when I would get a chance once I landed in Kabul.

I slept soundly to Frankfurt, and woke up enough during the layover to head to the First Class lounge. I cleaned up a bit and forced myself to eat, although I didn't really have much of an appetite. I checked my voicemail, and discovered I had five messages.

The first was from Alice, detailing a number of questions I should ask when I got there, and reminding me to get them all the information they would need if they had to come. The next one was from Jasper, letting me know that a car would be waiting for me at the airport, and that I'd been cleared with the necessary paperwork for coming onto the base.

The third message was from Emmett. He wanted to make sure I'd gotten on the flight alright, and to remind me to call him if I needed anything. The fourth message was also from Emmett, and caused me to furrow my brow.

"Rose? Hi it's me again, ummm, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do . . ." I could hear shouting in the background. "Shit. I just wanted to say sorry—" and he was cut off.

The fifth message, however, cleared it all up. "Rose? God damn it, Rose! What happened? Where is she?" _Edward._ "Rose, please, please call me. Tell me she's okay," he pled to my voicemail. "She has to be okay," he whispered and I could hear the terror in his voice. It mirrored my own, and although I was still furious with him, my heart broke for the boy who had once been like a brother to me, and who had loved Bella with every fiber of his being.


	9. Chapter 9

_He said to lose my life or lose my love,_  
That's the nightmare I've been running from.  
So let me hold you in my arms a while,  
I was always careless as a child.  
And there's a part of me that still believes,  
My soul will soar above the trees.  
But a desperate fear flows through my blood,  
That our dead loves buried beneath the mud.

"To Lose My Life" – White Lies

* * *

EPOV

Sweat trickled down my back as the taxi bounced along the road, and my hand tapped a nervous, staccato rhythm against my bag.

"You, first time here?" asked my driver, his English heavily accented and stilted.

"Yes," I answered, not wanting to be rude but not wanting to make conversation either.

"You here business?" he continued.

"No. Going to the hospital. My . . ." I began, before stopping short, unsure how to continue. My what? My former girlfriend? My soul mate? My muse? My raison d'etre? How the hell did I define Bella? How did I tell this man, this stranger, that my heart was lying in a hospital bed, possibly dying? This stranger from this harsh, foreign land. Did he even know what a muse was? Or the idea of a soul mate? Or had he been married to some woman he'd never seen before his wedding day?

"Ah, love," he said.

I stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. My shock must have been evident on my face because he pointed to himself and said, "Afghani," and then pointed to me and said, "American. Not very different."

I smiled at him, and then took his picture, his eyes gazing at me through the reflection of the mirror, so that I would always remember the day I was schooled by a humble, Afghan cab driver.

"Yes," I said. "Love."

"Love is good," he replied, and then said nothing more the entire way to Bagram.

I went nuts as I was herded through the various security checkpoints, both on the road and once we reached the base. Each kilometer brought me closer to her, and each stop, each delay ripped at what was left of the shreds of my sanity.

I hadn't slept since Emmett told me what happened. As I sat and sweated while we waited out another checkpoint, I thought about the morning I found out.

I was in my studio, standing in front of a large, blank canvas, trying to recapture in my mind's eye the way Bella looked the night of my show. The way her hair cascaded down her back and perfectly framed her face. The fire in her eyes when she saw me, and the undisguised, familiar pull in them after she punched me—the same tether that lashed me to her as a child and young man, and which couldn't be replaced no matter how many others there had been in the interim—but there was also pain, something I'd put there.

She was stunning. The young woman I'd left behind had matured and blossomed, but there was hardness in her face that hadn't been there before—cynicism in place of hope, wariness in place of openness.

I needed to capture it. To capture her and commit her to my canvas. Alice and Rose said I broke her, and I wanted to make sure I never forgot what I'd done to her. To make sure I remembered that I was the one who put that hardness there, and left the haunted, pained look in her eyes.

I heard the door swing open.

"Hi Em," I said knowing it was him because he was the only other person with a key.

"Umm, hey Edward," he replied, sounding decidedly . . . off.

I turned to look at him, and there was no doubt about it, something was wrong.

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked, putting down my brush and palette and walking over to him, gesturing to the bar. He sat down heavily on one of the chairs, and I walked around and poured us each a cup of coffee. I spent a lot of time in my studio, so I made sure it was equipped with the necessities: a fully stocked bar, excellent coffee, and a small fridge to keep food and my insulin.

"Umm, Rose got a call a few hours ago," he began.

I looked at the clock, saw how early in the morning it was, did the mental math and groaned. "Fuck Em, you were with Rose in the middle of the night? That means . . . aw hell, Emmett; I mean you couldn't have waited until she was at least talking to me again? And now what? From the look on your face I'm going to guess you got the standard treatment? Or one of her infamous tongue lashings?"

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. First Carlisle, then Emmett. "Fuck Em, really?" I whined.

"Edward, just shut up a minute. I . . . I don't know how to tell you this, okay?"

The tone of his voice scared me, and I sat down on the bar stool. "What?" I asked, my voice shaky and pitched too high.

"Bella's been hurt," he began, and my world felt like it was tipping. I gripped the edge of the stool, certain that I was going to fall off.

"What happened? Where? Afghanistan?"

"You knew she was there? How did you know? When—"

"Emmett, questions later! What happened?"

He took a deep breath. "Her car hit a roadside bomb and she was hurt badly, Edward."

I closed my eyes and asked, "How bad?"

"She took a piece of shrapnel in the abdomen and a hit to her head. She lost a lot of blood before they got her to the hospital and into surgery. Right now she's in a medically induced coma."

"What," I began and faltered, because I could barely bring myself to ask the question. "What's her prognosis?"

"Jasper said it was fifty-fifty."

"Who's Jasper?" I asked.

"It's who Bella was working with. He's the one that called Rose."

"I have to go, Em. I have to go. Fuck. Is the travel agent even open this early? What airlines fly to Afghanistan? Where's my computer?" I began rattling off questions, and wandering around the studio looking for my computer, my phone.

I felt Emmett's hand on my shoulder. "Edward, what are you going to do? How are you going to get on the base? You just going to stroll up to the gates and demand to see her?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know!" I yelled. "How the fuck is Rose getting on the base?"

"That Jasper guy told her he was going to let them know to expect her, and to help with security. Rose has Bella's medical proxy, since she has no living relatives, and she's listed as Bella's next of kin."

"I'll call Rose. Maybe she can help. Maybe she can tell them—"

"Tell them what exactly, Edward? That they should let her hysterical, ex-boyfriend onto the base?"

He was right. I was getting hysterical, but who wouldn't in my place? "Maybe. I don't know, but I have to call Rose. Give me her number."

"No. Not until you calm down and have a rational plan in place. I'm going to call her now. You calm the fuck down," he ordered.

I watched him walk away as he dialed his phone and, after a moment, begin speaking. It must have gone directly to voicemail. "Rose? Hi it's me again, ummm, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do . . ."

I had to try. "Give me the phone, Emmett!" I shouted.

He ignored me and continued, "Shit. I just wanted to say sorry—"

I grabbed the phone from him and inadvertently disconnected the call.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled. "If you weren't my best friend, and I didn't know how fucked up you are right now, I would knock your block off," he seethed.

"Thanks," I deadpanned, and hit redial. As soon as her voicemail beeped, I began to speak, and my fear and hysteria colored my words, my tone. "Rose? God damn it, Rose! What happened? Where is she? Rose, please, please call me. Tell me she's okay," I pled into the phone, before Emmett plucked it from my hand and ended the call.

"I can't lose her, Emmett. You, you of all people know that."

"I know man, I know. I just . . . I just don't know what to do."

My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID. _Carlisle Cullen_ flashed and I moved to toss the phone back on the table. I'd been avoiding his calls since the night of my show. I was going to talk to him. I was. I just wasn't ready to. But as I was about to let the call go to voicemail, I remembered that Carlisle had connections all over the world from his time with Doctors Without Borders. He may not have worked in Afghanistan, but I thought that maybe, just maybe he knew someone there. Maybe another doctor that worked on the base?

I answered the phone.

"Edward, thank God," he said. "I've been trying to reach you for days," he paused. "We have to talk."

"I know, Carlisle. We do have to talk, but there's something else first." And I told him what happened, and asked if he could help. He started asking me questions about her condition, the doctor in him trying to assess the situation. I told him what I knew and he got quiet for a moment. Then he said he would see what he could do and to come by his house right away.

I packed my bags quickly; a few changes of clothes, my laptop, camera, sketchpad, and some pencils and charcoal. Those last were not necessary, but sketching sometimes calmed me when I was stressed, and I figured it couldn't hurt to have them. I wanted to be ready in case Carlisle managed to pull some strings.

I was at Carlisle's house within the hour. When we walked in, he looked at me with concern. Pointing at my face he asked, "Did she do that?"

I grimaced, thinking about the cut across my nose and black left eye. I touched my face gingerly and nodded.

"That's some right she's got," he muttered, and brought us into his office.

It was a warm, rich room, filled with dark woods, and comfortable fabrics. A leather couch faced the fireplace, and an antique partner's desk sat angled at the corner by a large floor to ceiling window. A zebra skin rug lay in front of the sofa, which was flanked on either side by inviting chairs with matching ottomans. Bookshelves adorned the remaining walls, and sconces reflected a soft light against the wall in between each of them. A hexagonal, inlaid Moroccan table sat at one arm of the sofa, and small items from around the world dotted the flat surfaces of the room. Being there always made me feel like I'd traveled back in time to the estate of a retired British soldier who had served in India and Africa. It was my favorite room in Carlisle's house, but just then I didn't even give it a second glance.

"Well?" I asked, without preamble.

"Sit down, Edward," Carlisle said, indicating the couch. "Hello, Emmett."

"Carlisle," Emmett replied and shook his hand.

"Carlisle, I don't want to sit down! I just need to know if you can help me or not!" I was being an asshole of unmitigated proportions, but I really didn't care.

"Edward," Carlisle began in an exasperated tone. "I'm still waiting for a phone call. So please, sit down while we wait."

I sat down on the couch, elbows on my knees, hands cradling my head. I felt the couch move and dip next to me, as Carlisle took the other seat.

"Edward." Carlisle touched my hand as he spoke. I flinched at his touch, knowing that hand had been on my Bella just a few days before, but I looked up at him.

"I didn't know who she was, Edward. You have to believe that."

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Carlisle."

"Until the night of your show, I knew her as 'Marie Higginbotham.' That's the name she goes by when she's working abroad."

"Marie is her middle name," I filled in. "Higginbotham was her mother's maiden name."

"I see."

"How," I broke off, unsure how to continue. "How do you know, Bella?"

Carlisle stood and walked a few feet, rubbing his hand over his face. His back was to me when he began. "When Esme died, my world ended. I know that sounds cliché, but it was true. I felt like a stranger in my own house, at work, in my own skin. I couldn't find joy in the simplest pleasures, even in my job, which I'd always loved. Finally, I couldn't take staying here any longer, and I joined MSF."

"MSF?" Emmett interrupted.

Carlisle turned toward Emmett. "Sorry, Emmett. That's the French acronym for Doctors Without Borders."

He turned back toward the wall, away from us. "I met Marie, sorry," he shook his head, "Bella about a year or so after I went to Africa. She had brought in a truckload of supplies that we'd been waiting for. Strictly speaking she didn't work for MSF, but she brought us a number of things we desperately needed, as our official supply line was caught up in government red tape."

"What kinds of things?" I asked, thinking about what Alice had said. "Food? Clothing?"

Carlisle turned and looked at me, his smile rueful. "No, Edward. We were a medical outfit. She brought us medical supplies: sutures, gauze, even an autoclave when ours broke," he said, and then continued in a barely audible whisper, "and medicines."

I didn't like the implication. "What kind of medicines, Carlisle? Antibiotics?"

He chuckled. "Yes, antibiotics." I breathed a sigh of relief. "And morphine, Percocet, diazepam, and whatever else we needed, Edward."

"Fucking, hell," I heard Emmett mutter.

"Bella did this? My Bella was smuggling drugs?" My head was spinning.

"Don't make it sound so sordid, Edward." Carlisle chided. "She saved lives."

"At the risk of her own!" I yelled and jumped up.

"I think that was the point, Edward."

His words were like a bucket of ice water on my fiery indignation and I sat back down, hard.

A tendril of realization crept across my panic. "Is that what it was like for you too?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

I heard Carlisle take a deep breath. "Being in the middle of a war? The danger, the tenuous and fleeting hold on life there? It made me feel more . . . alive?"

"Jesus," Emmett breathed.

"And Bella? When did you and Bella . . ." I trailed off, the words choking in my throat. "When did you and Bella become intimate?" I finally ground out.

He sighed and brought his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I first met Bella sometime in late 2004, I think. About six months or so later, a kid came running into the camp. His mother was hurt and couldn't get there on her own. No one wanted to leave the safety of the camp to get her—no one but Bella. She volunteered to drive me."

Carlisle turned from us again and made his way to the antique bar across the room. He opened the cherry wood doors, pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured himself a drink. He took a long sip and then continued.

"You should have seen her, Edward. She looked like someone out of a movie—pale skin and dark hair, dressed like a female Indiana Jones, climbing into the Jeep and gunning it like something was chasing her. But her eyes, Edward, her eyes . . . well you know . . . they were haunted but they also had this spark, this drive, it made you feel courageous. They made you want to follow her anywhere.

"We found the mother where the child said she would be. Only rebel soldiers had found her first. They surrounded us and forced us from the Jeep. I tried to get them to let me to help the woman, but they pistol whipped me." His hand reached up to absently rub a spot on the back of his head, and he took another long sip.

"They threw us in a small hut and left a guard at the door. We heard the woman's screams for hours as they took turns raping her. That's what they did . . . what they do. Then we heard gunshots, and yelling and trucks, and it was clear that a battle was going on outside, and we were stuck in the middle."

Carlisle turned and looked at me then, and his eyes were haunted. "We thought we were going to die, Edward." He turned away. "We thought we were going to die. So we . . . . But the kicker . . . the kicker was that for the first time since Esme died, I'd felt alive, like there was a reason to _be_ alive.

"After that night, after the government soldiers 'rescued' us, Bella returned to the States, but we saw each other whenever she came to Darfur. We didn't have any official arrangement, and I knew there were others . . ." he trailed off.

He turned back to me then, and I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. "Oh fuck! You love her!"

He laughed mirthlessly. "It doesn't matter, Edward. She doesn't love me."

I didn't respond, because really what could I say? I was in turmoil. The love of my life was risking her life on a continual basis, nearly dying more than once, and my uncle, a man who I had come to love and respect in a very short time, and who deserved happiness more than anyone I knew, was in love with her—and the selfish bastard that I was, was ecstatic that she didn't love him back.

But before the conversation could continue, Carlisle's phone rang and we all jumped.

He looked at the caller ID, held a finger up to me and answered. Ten minutes later I was in Emmett's car, as it headed to O'Hare for the second time that day. Carlisle had called in a favor and gotten me a ride on an MSF cargo flight to Afghanistan. A doctor he knew at Bagram was going to work out the security and paperwork issues for me.

As Emmett and I left his house, I turned to him. "Carlisle, I—"

"Not now, Edward," he said, his pain written all over his face. "Not now. Just go. Be with her." He gave me a hug and then pushed me toward the car. "Go. Bella needs you."

I opened my eyes as the taxi slowed, making its way through yet another checkpoint. My shirt was completely stuck to me by then, and the dry, dusty air blowing in through the open windows did nothing to help. I clenched my fists in aggravation, as we stopped once again.

I still couldn't wrap my mind around what Carlisle had told me. I didn't want to picture him and Bella together, and yet my mind, unbidden, created images from what he told me and my fingers itched to sketch it. My stomach clenched as I thought about how close I came to losing both of them that day, and I hadn't even known it. Hell, I hadn't even met him yet. If things had gone just a little differently . . . I gagged at the thought.

Finally, finally, I was there, on the base. A soldier, an airman Williams, escorted me from the entrance to the hospital. I was met there by Dr. Call, Carlisle's friend.

"Thank you so much for helping me out," I said as I shook his hand.

"Anything for Carlisle," he replied. "He's a good man."

I nodded in agreement, unable to speak because of the lump that formed in my throat. He was a good man. A much better man than I was, and yet he stepped aside, and did everything in his power to help me get to Bella. I didn't think I could—no, I knew I was too selfish and too consumed by Bella—to do the same if I was in his shoes.

"How is she?" I asked him.

"As far as I know she's the same. Stable. I believe her doctor, Sam Uley, will be stopping in to check on her shortly, and I'm sure he can update you better. He's a good doctor, Edward. She's in good hands."

We headed down a couple of corridors, and then turned right. Dr. Call's pager went off and he said, "I have to take this." He indicated down the hall. "Her room is the fourth door on the right. Best of luck, Edward, and tell Carlisle hello for me," he said and ran off.

I hurried down the hallway to Bella's room, anxious and trembling. I paused when I reached it, trying to prepare myself for what I might see. I pushed the door open, and there she was just lying on the bed. She looked so still and tiny surrounded by all the medical equipment. At her side, holding her hand was a tall, blond man. His head had been down when I first walked in, as if he were whispering in her ear, but whipped up when I entered.

His eyes narrowed and then widened slightly in surprise. "You must be Edward," he said, not moving from Bella's side.

"And you are?" I asked. I didn't like the familiar manner with which he touched Bella.

His gaze never faltered as he continued to look me right in the eye. This man was not going to back down from me, and I got the feeling he didn't back down from anyone. "Jasper," he replied. "Jasper Whitlock." That was it. No title. No explanation. He turned his head back to Bella, his eyes on her face.

"How," I began. "How is she?"

But before he could answer, the door opened and Rose walked in carrying two cups of coffee. "Edward! What the fuck are you doing here?" she seethed.

"Did you really think I would stay away?" I asked.

She snorted. "You've managed that maneuver for seven years," she said as she walked over to Jasper and handed him his coffee. I ran my hand through my hair and tossed my bags to the ground. I walked over to Bella's other side, hindered somewhat by the machinery and tubes, but I wasn't about to ask Jasper to move. Something about his demeanor was entirely too proprietary.

I picked up her other hand, and it was limp and small in mine. I bent down to kiss it and brought the back of her hand to my cheek, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of her against my skin for the first time in so many years. Even unconscious, bandaged, and bruised, she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever set eyes on, and our connection wasn't dimmed in the least. I could still feel the tug and pull of her. I knew I always would.

The door opened again, and we all looked up expectantly. A man with a white coat over his uniform, Dr. Uley, I presumed, walked in. "Are we having a party?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Then he turned to look at me, his eyes fixed on my face. "Oh, so you're the Nose."

My hand unconsciously made its way to my face, gingerly touching the bruises and I grimaced. How the fuck? Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jasper's lip turn up a little and when I turned to look at him, he was kissing the back of Bella's very bruised hand.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

_Here comes the rain again_  
falling from the stars  
drenched in my pain again  
becoming who we are.

 _As my memory rests_  
but never forgets what I lost  
wake me up when September ends.

 _Summer has come and passed_  
the innocent can never last  
wake me up when September ends.

 _Ring out the bells again_  
like we did when spring began  
wake me up when September ends.

"Wake Me Up When September Ends" – Green Day

* * *

RPOV

I finally arrived at Bagram in the middle of the night, but Jasper was as good as his word, and someone was waiting to escort me to the hospital. Walking into Bella's room was an exercise in discipline because every fiber of my being was screaming for me to run. I wasn't afraid of much in my life, but hospitals topped my list.

My own stay in the hospital was not only uncomfortable and unpleasant, but so tangled in up in the horror of my young life that I would forever associate hospitals with pain, trauma, and shame. Then when Charlie and Renee died . . . it was bad enough losing Renee immediately, but Bella was forced to make the decision to remove Charlie from life support. I think that day was almost worse than the day I was hospitalized.

I had just turned five, and was playing quietly in the corner so that I wouldn't wake Daddy up. It always put him in a foul temper when I woke him up with my playing and then he'd hurt me, so I made sure to stay quiet as a mouse. That day I was being extra good, and when I heard the knock on the door, I ran to it quickly so that whoever it was wouldn't wake up Daddy. When I cracked the door open to tell them Daddy was sleeping, two men shoved it open all the way and came in, waking up Daddy.

I said, "I'm sorry, Daddy! They just—" but he cut me off with a backhand to the mouth, and a snarled, "Shut up!"

"Shit!" One of the men said. Then he picked me up and sat me on his lap. He gently wiped the blood from my lip. "Aren't you a pretty princess?" he asked and I smiled at him like he was the Second Coming.

"I don't have it, Royce," I heard Daddy say.

"Tsk, tsk," the man called Royce responded even as he brushed the hair out of my face, smiling at me the whole time.

"I'll have the money next week, Royce. I swear," Daddy said, and he sounded scared. Daddy never sounded scared.

"Hale, Hale, Hale," he said in a tone of voice that would be used by a teacher when you forgot your homework. "That's not acceptable. But I tell you what. I'll accept a partial payment now, and then my full payment next week. Think of it as an interest only payment for now."

"Royce, man, I . . . I don't have it. I don't have any of it," Daddy said, cringing.

"Oh, well now," Royce said. "That's a real shame. Joe," Royce commanded his eyes still on me. "Show Mr. Hale here what happens when someone disappoints me."

The other man, Joe, took two steps toward Daddy. "Please god, no!" Daddy screamed.

I was terrified. Daddy was scared; Daddy never got scared. Then I began to cry. "Oh no, Princess. No tears," Royce said as he wiped them away. "Don't be frightened sweetheart."

"Joe," Royce said, and Joe stopped. "Well, Hale, there is one thing you have . . ."

My parents dealt heroin for Royce King, but they'd broken the cardinal rule of dealing—don't get high on your own supply—and owed Royce a lot of money. I found out later that my mother was out turning tricks that day, trying to make up the money they owed him. But Royce King didn't wait for his junkie dealers to pay him. Royce King took what he wanted as payment.

That day, I was what he wanted, and at first I thought he was an angel sent from heaven to rescue me from my evil parents. He bought me an ice cream cone, and let me toss bread crumbs to the pigeons in the park as we walked. We stopped at a store on the way, and he bought me the prettiest pink nightgown, with lace trim and satin bows, and told me that I would really look like a princess when I wore it.

He held my hand as we rode up the elevator. When we walked into his apartment I was amazed. My young mind thought it must be a palace. He showed me the bathroom and told me to go put on my new nightgown. I did as he said, and when I came out he sat me on his lap and brushed my hair.

"So beautiful," he whispered as his fingers ran through it.

He wrapped his arms around me and I felt him moving under me, rocking against me. "Such a pretty princess," he whispered again.

And then Royce King took my innocence.

He kept me for three days, until I finally tried to run away. That's when he beat me within an inch of my life, and assaulted me so badly, that by the age of five I no longer had to worry about ever getting my period, or accidentally getting knocked up in the back seat of a car.

I don't remember much of what happened after that, but Royce did return me to my parents, who were so high that it was a half a day before my mother sobered enough to realize I needed to go to the hospital.

DCFS made sure I never went back to them, and six months later I was living with Charlie, Renee, and Bella. But those weeks before Charlie and Renee's house, when I was in the hospital, were another nightmare entirely. The people were kind, but the place was cold and unwelcoming. I was in horrible pain and even though a kindly doctor kept telling me it wasn't my fault, I was ashamed and humiliated.

If it wasn't for Charlie, Renee, and Bella, I don't think I would have gotten through it, but they gave me the love I was starved for. They saw to it that I got help, and Bella always crawled into bed with me when my nightmares started; holding me tight and telling me that it was going to be alright.

For years, if anyone told me I was beautiful, I felt my stomach knot in anxiety and my hands would start to shake. Bella would look at me and hold my hand, then say, "Rose is even smarter than she is beautiful." It took a lot of therapy before I was comfortable in my own skin.

When Charlie and Renee brought Alice and Tanya into our family, I felt like I had to let go of my fears and doubts, so that I could be strong for them. They needed me. I needed to show them that they could make it too. I needed to show them how good and pure the Swans' love was, and how family, a real family, could heal you.

But the one thing I never got over, the one thing that haunted me into my adult life was my fear of hospitals. The smell, the sounds, the lights, all took me back to that time, and when I walked down the halls, I was once again a terrified and broken little girl, but I never wanted Bella, Alice and Tanya to know.

So I was ashamed to admit that I simply could not bring myself to step foot in the hospital again when Edward collapsed in the weeks after Charlie and Renee died. In my mind hospitals meant tragedy and horror. I was certain that Edward was going to die as well, and couldn't take another loss. Alice and Tanya tried to convince me that he would be okay, but I wouldn't believe them until he came home on his own. I don't know how Bella kept it together at the time, but she did, with the grace and courage she'd always shown, but never believed she had.

Therefore, it was an effort of will to turn the knob and enter Bella's room, knowing what I would find. I opened the door slowly and saw Bella lying in the bed. She looked so small. There was a bandage around her head, and her face was so very pale. Tubes and breathing apparatus were connected to her, and it was as terrifying as any memory I had. The difference, however, was the tall, blond man that was sitting in the chair next to her bed. He had fallen asleep holding her hand, and his head was leaning against the bed. It looked very uncomfortable, particularly as I noted a bandage on his shoulder, just peeking out through the neckline of his shirt.

I took a few tentative steps forward, the need to fling myself on Bella at war with the desire not to disturb their rest, but Jasper's eyes flew open at the sound of my shoes on the hard tile. He ran a hand over his face, wiping the sleep away and stood, but not before gently kissing Bella on the forehead and releasing her hand with another kiss.

That was the moment I realized Jasper Whitlock was in love with my sister.

"Rosalie?" he asked as he extended his hand.

"Jasper," I said as we shook. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but . . ."

Jasper nodded in response. "I'm so sorry," he began.

"For what?" I asked.

"I should have been paying better attention. Maybe I would have seen something . . ." he trailed off.

"Were you driving?" I asked.

"No, I was in the front with the driver, but I was talking to Marie . . . uh, Bella."

"So why are you apologizing?" I asked. "This isn't your fault, Jasper. The two of you are crazy for being here in the first place, but Bella knew the danger when she came here. Now, tell me how she's doing."

As I sat and held Bella's hand, Jasper filled me in on her condition. There hadn't been much change since we'd last spoken, but the doctors did upgrade her condition from critical to stable. Jasper went out and got them to bring in a chair that reclined and insisted that I get some sleep.

There was no arguing with him, especially when he brought out the Texan drawl, and I could see what Bella found so attractive. Despite his charm and easy smile, however, there was a sadness in him that wasn't caused by worry over Bella, and I knew that it was that sadness, more than anything else, that drew them together.

I tossed and turned, but gave up just after daybreak. I made Jasper take a turn in the recliner and sat with Bella. I knew that patients in comas could hear their loved ones, so I talked to her quietly. I told her how much we needed her, and that she had to get better. I wanted to tell her about Emmett, but I didn't know if it would upset her because of his connection to Edward.

I was surprised when Emmett came up to me at the end of the lecture I'd given at the university two days after Bella left, but was astounded when he began to ask me questions that made it clear he understood the topic. It turned out that Emmett loved physics and the hard sciences, but not enough to make it his life. He didn't have the patience for academia, but took a number of classes during college, and continued to read up on new developments when he had the time. Instead he'd gone into business, and somehow wound up as the business manager for several artists and photographers.

"So, how did you meet Edward?" I asked as I sipped my wine. Somehow our conversation after the lecture had morphed into dinner.

"Did you agree to have dinner with me just to pump me for information about Edward?" he asked, but the twinkle in his eyes and the way his mouth curved and ended in dimples, told me he wasn't upset.

Still, he was getting cocky and I thought I'd take him down a peg. "No. I agreed to have dinner with you because I can't fuck your brains out if I haven't eaten first," I said as I swirled my finger into the partially eaten crème brulee and then sucked it clean.

I watched as his eyes grew wide, and his smile wider. "Still hungry?" he asked.

"Not for food."

His eyes never left mine as he signaled the waiter for the check. He didn't even look at it, just threw his card down and continued to stare at me. It hadn't escaped my notice that despite his good humor, he had successfully deflected my question about Edward.

"Your place or mine?" he asked as he signed the check.

We'd come in his car, and if we went back to his place, I'd be stuck there until he drove me home, or I called a cab. "Mine," I answered. Going to my place meant I could kick him out if I so chose.

As if reading my thoughts he said, "Don't worry, I won't overstay my welcome."

I smiled and replied, "Oh, I'm not worried. I wouldn't let you."

And as he opened the car door for me he leaned over and whispered, "But you're not going to want me to leave," and closed the door before I could respond.

I discovered that Emmett McCarty was no liar.

I heard the door to the room open, and a nurse walked in to do . . . whatever it was that nurses do. I shook my head to dispel thoughts of Emmett. It wasn't the time to be thinking about him, but I was very glad that he'd wanted to pick up where we left off when I got home. I asked the nurse if there was somewhere I could get a shower and a cup of coffee, and after she gave me directions, I grabbed my bag and headed out.

Jasper opened a bleary eye and said, "Could you bring me back a cup too? Black."

I told him I would and hurried off. I didn't want to be away from Bella for too long, particularly since the nurse told me the doctor was coming in to check on Bella, and talk to us about her prognosis. I took a hurried shower, found the commissary and grabbed a couple of cups of coffee.

I walked back into Bella's room, and found Edward standing there talking to Jasper. The urge to toss the hot coffee at him made my fingers itch. How dare he? When I told Jasper he wasn't at fault, I meant it. If anyone was to blame for Bella's situation it was Edward. Edward who took one of the most loving, giving, tender people I ever knew and ripped her heart to shreds. Sometimes I imagined that what was left behind must look something like Frankenstein's monster—scarred, mutilated, barely held together by staples and baling wire.

Edward did that to her. Edward, who stood there with his heart on his sleeve, in his eyes, and on his face, and knowing that he still loved her didn't make me any less angry. In fact, it made me angrier. How do you do something like that to someone you love?

And, finally, I was burning inside because Bella's heart wasn't the only one broken when he ran off. For Bella and Alice's sakes I stayed strong when Edward left. Tanya was angry enough to spit nails, but Bella and Alice fell apart when he disappeared, especially Bella. But when they weren't around, when they were finally asleep at night, after the tears and the tequila . . . I lay in bed and I cried.

Edward had been the only man in my life, other than Charlie, that I ever trusted implicitly. Edward, who held my hair back the first time I puked after drinking. Edward who tried to stand up for me when some boys teased me in sixth grade because I was already wearing a bra, and got himself shoved into a garbage can. Edward who came to my room after it was finally explained to me why I would never get my period or have children of my own, and told me that I was perfect just the way I was, and if a boy couldn't see that, he didn't deserve me.

"Edward, what the fuck are you doing here?" I couldn't believe the nerve of him.

"Did you really think I would stay away?" he replied.

Was he kidding me? I snorted at him. "You've managed that maneuver for seven years, Edward."

I walked over to Jasper and handed him his coffee. I sat in the recliner and watched as Edward went to Bella's other side, took her hand, kissed it and brought it to his face. I felt my anger waver as I watched how much Edward still loved her. I felt the two sides of me at war—hate and love—fighting over Edward. I hated him for making me feel anything but anger at him. It wasn't fair. I was entitled to be angry at him for Christ's sake! And I loved him because he was just . . . Edward. He was still that boy who had loved me as a brother and protected me as best he could. The boy who helped me understand that being beautiful wasn't a curse. The boy who loved my sister so much that they made us happy just to be with them.

He was infuriating.

I turned my attention instead to Jasper. I watched him watching Edward. It was fascinating, because his look wasn't one of typical jealousy. It was considering, contemplative. So very different from Edward's emotionally driven personality.

However, before I could continue my comparison of Edward and Jasper, the doctor walked in. His comments about Edward and his nose nearly made me spit up my coffee. Jasper's sly grin as he kissed Bella's hand had me reassessing him. _Well played_. I thought.

Then the doctor began to examine Bella, and all of us fell silent. Edward scowled, as he had to move out of the way while the doctor checked the machines and equipment around her. Jasper didn't look any happier, but they stood next to each other as they watched the doctor, in a bizarre form of male bonding: the men who loved Bella against any other male who touched her.

I shook my head at their Neanderthal instincts and continued to drink my coffee. When the doctor was done, he turned to us and nodded toward the door. We followed him out to the hallway, and listened to him speak.

"Bella is in stable condition. We're going to keep her in a medically induced coma for another day or so, and then slowly taper back the medication and see how she's doing. We just don't know how much damage she may have sustained to her brain. There was some slight swelling, and we're going to do another CAT scan to see if it's gone down."

"And if it hasn't?" I asked.

He looked at us. "Who is authorized to make decisions for Ms. Swan?"

I didn't like the sound of that. "I am."

"And you are?"

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Rose. Bella's sister."

"Well, Rose, if the swelling hasn't gone down, or gets worse, we may have to go in and relieve the pressure on her brain."

I felt myself blanch. They'd have to cut into Bella's head? I swallowed the bile that threatened to choke me.

Dr. Uley must have seen the look on my face because he immediately followed with, "But that's only if there is too much pressure." He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Let's just wait and see, okay? So far she's been real tough. A fighter."

"Yes she is," I heard Jasper whisper.

Dr. Uley turned to Edward. "Have you had that looked at?"

Edward just nodded.

"Okay, I'm going to order the CAT scan, and we should know more later," he said before walking away.

I needed to be strong for Bella. I knew I needed to be, but at that moment all my courage fled me. All I could register was the smell of antiseptic, and blood, and death, and I ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I began throwing up. A moment later I heard the door and there was a hand at the base of my neck gathering my hair, while another hand rubbed soothing circles on my back.

"She's going to be fine, Rose."

"You don't know that, Edward," I sobbed. "It's just like Charlie and Renee," I blubbered before throwing up again.

"She's going to be fine," he insisted.

At that moment I needed to believe him. I didn't care about how angry I was at Edward, or that I wanted to smack him in the back of the head. I turned into his chest, and let him pull me onto his lap and wrap his arms around me. His chin rested on the top of my head as he held me.

"She's going to be fine," he repeated over and over, like a mantra.

After a few minutes I stopped crying, and reached for the toilet paper to blow my nose. "I'm still mad at you," I said as I blew my nose.

"I know," he sighed. "It's okay, I'm mad at me too."

"Asshole."

"Yup."

"Stop it."

"What?"

"Agreeing with me. It makes it very difficult to stay mad at you."

"Okay."

"Edward," I said in warning. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"Okay."

I made a fist and held it up to his nose. "Just shut up before I make that shiner a matched set." He didn't answer, just hummed. "And Edward?"

"Hmmm?"

"Go take a shower. You stink."


	11. Chapter 11

_In fields where nothing grew but weeds,_  
I found a flower at my feet,  
bending there in my direction.  
I wrapped a hand around its stem  
and pulled until the roots gave in,  
finding there what I've been missing.  
And I know...

 _So I tell myself, I tell myself, it's wrong._  
There's a point we pass from which we can't return.  
I felt the cold rain of the coming storm...

 _All because of you,_  
I haven't slept in so long.  
When I do I dream  
of drowning in the ocean;  
longing for the shore  
where I can lay my head down.  
I'll follow your voice;  
all you have to do is  
shout it out!

"The Good Left Undone" – Rise Against

* * *

JPOV

_Sunlight streams through the slats of the blinds, catching the motes of dust, refracted by them. As I watched them swirl and dance, I recall that as I child I couldn't understand what they meant when they said air was invisible. Didn't they see them? Didn't they see those little bits and pieces that danced in the light?_

_I roll over and pull her close to me, reveling in her warmth and softness. My hand slides across her stomach, softer and rounder since Peter was born, but no less enticing to the touch. I walk my fingers up, knowing she is awake and feeling playful, and cup her full breast, enjoying the weight and feel of it in my hand, before pinching and teasing the nipple._

_She moans and pushes back against me, rubbing her ass against my hard on. "Mmmmm, good morning," she groans as I move my hand back down and slide a finger into her. She's wet and ready and willing. I turn her to face me and lift her leg slightly, and then rock my hips, guiding myself into her with one sure stroke._

" _Good mornin' darlin'," I drawl as I kiss her face, her neck. I love her like that—sweetly, tenderly, quietly. We climax in a flurry of whispered moans and endearments, wrapped in a state of post-coital bliss, until the thud of little feet is heard running down the hall. We giggle like school kids, and I pull out of her quickly and grab some pajama pants that are thrown on the floor, sliding them on in a rush. The door flies open._

" _Mommy! Daddy!" Peter shouts and flings himself onto the bed. We all laugh and kiss, and then I grab him by the waist and say, "Let's go make Mommy some breakfast." He squeals and wriggles, and when I set him down he runs off to the kitchen, screeching that he won't be the rotten egg._

_An hour later they walk out to the car, and Maria has just strapped him into his car seat when I run out with his Elmo lunch box. She shakes her head at her forgetfulness and gives me a last, lingering kiss. I swat her backside as she heads to her side of the car, and I turn and head toward the house._

_My hand reaches the doorknob and I hear the car stutter as she turns the key. Something clicks in my head and I spin around. "NO!" I scream, but it's too late._

I woke with a start, my forehead sweaty and my body clammy. I looked over and saw Edward slumped in the chair on the other side of Bella's bed, sound asleep. I offered up a silent thank you, because I didn't need him to see me like that.

I hadn't dreamt about it in a long time, but given the circumstances, it wasn't surprising that I did. I stood up and stretched, then leaned over and gave Bella a kiss. I'd decided the day before that continuing to call her Marie would be silly. I'd known who she was, and she knew that, but she'd introduced herself to me as Marie, and even after I found out everything I needed to know, she never asked me to stop, so I hadn't. But everything had changed in the course of a few days.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was four thirty in the morning. The recliner was empty and Rose, as she insisted I call her, was nowhere to be seen. I figured she was suffering from pretty bad jet lag and was probably trying to scrounge something to eat. I walked out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. I used the facilities, splashed some water on my face when I washed my hands, then scrounged up a cup of coffee before heading outside for a cigarette.

I leaned against the wall, eyes closed as I took a drag.

"You look like shit," Rose stated.

I didn't bother opening my eyes. "I have no doubt," I replied and took another hit. After I exhaled I looked at her.

She really was a beautiful woman. I'd seen pictures of her, of course, and Bella always talked about how gorgeous Rose was, but looking at her I realized that her beauty was something different. Many women cleaned up nicely, or looked great all dressed up in pictures, but Rose was in a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. She had no make-up on, and her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and she was still stunning.

That natural beauty was the only thing, physically, she and Bella had in common. And yet, although I could appreciate Rose's beauty from an aesthetic perspective, she did nothing for me. It was the smaller, dark-haired woman lying on the hospital bed that drove me mad with passion, lust, and . . . love, but also mountains of guilt and shame. It was the sweetest agony.

"How long?" Rose asked.

"How long what?"

"How long have you been in love with my sister?"

I took a sip of the coffee, buying a minute as I thought about my answer. "I'm not sure," I said. "It's complicated."

She snorted. "It always is." But she didn't say anything else, and we were silent as I finished my cigarette.

"I don't know exactly when I fell in love with her," I began, "but I didn't realize it until the accident." I may have been lying to her and to myself. If I really examined my behavior when we were at Marwand's, and later in the cave, I might have recognized my jealousy and territoriality for what it was. I wasn't feeling quite so introspective at the time.

"He isn't going to give up," she said.

"I know."

"Are you?"

"I don't know," I told her. "Like I said, it's complicated."

"Why? Are you married?"

I choked on my coffee. "No," I sputtered and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "No, I'm definitely not married," I said bitterly.

"Ohhhkay," she said, picking up on the not-so-subtle tone of my voice that said the subject was not open to discussion. She stood up and we headed back inside.

We walked back to Bella's room silently, but before we reached it I stopped her. I dug into my pocket, extracted the flash drive, and held it out to her.

"Is that . . .?" she asked, unable to finish the question.

"Yeah. It was in her personal effects. The rest are in the room, but, I don't know," I said scratching my head. "It didn't feel right leaving it sitting there."

"Thank you," she whispered as she took it from me, and I noticed her fingers trembling.

"I didn't look—" I began.

"Oh! I didn't think you did," she interrupted. "Bella's told me about the kind of man you are. I know you wouldn't look at it without permission."

"I'm not gonna lie, Rose. I was sorely tempted."

She grinned widely. "I'd worry about you if you hadn't been," she laughed.

The mood turned lighter and we walked back into the room. All traces of the lighter mood disappeared as we walked in to the sight of Edward holding Bella's hand and talking to her. "I love you so much, Bella. I never stopped loving you. You have to know that. I—" He cut off when he heard us walk in and tried to discreetly wipe tears from his face.

"I thought maybe you left," he said to me.

"Not a chance," I warned.

"Okay boys," Rose interjected. "I'm in no mood for a testosterone fest. You," she pointed at Edward. "Go eat something before they hospitalize you." Edward winced but nodded. "And you," she said to me, "either go with him, or go shower, but I need a few minutes alone with Bella."

I grinned at her. "I'll go shower," I said, and Edward snorted.

I grabbed my bag, which had survived along with Bella's laptop, and headed to the bathroom. It was a large locker room style bathroom, primarily used by the doctors and other personnel, but thankfully each shower was separate and at least made private by a curtain. I washed my hair, and then stood under the spray, my hands resting on the wall in front of me as I let the hot water work itself against my neck and shoulders, before running down my back.

I replayed the previous few days and wondered how everything had gone so wrong. Just three days earlier I'd been making love to Bella, and I could no longer deny that's what I was doing with her at Marwand's. The cave? That was fucking. That was claiming. That was desperation and passion and need. At Marwand's the night before? I'd changed the rules.

It started like it always did—with need and nerves and impatience, and no small amount of desire. It was even playful. She teased me and took me in her mouth, and nearly brought me to my knees with the perfection of it. And when I returned the favor, I reveled in the feel and taste of her, enjoying the abandon with which she came, and with which she demanded and took her pleasure.

I could see there was something going on behind her eyes, something that was distracting her. But then as I slid into her and felt her tight and hot around me, as I held her in my arms and looked at her face, flushed and sweaty, eyes closed and swollen lips parted in a slight "o," I stopped worrying about any distractions. That's when I felt it; when I realized something had shifted. I wouldn't admit to it at the time, but somewhere inside I knew the feeling for exactly what it was, and I couldn't continue with her the usual way.

I stilled until she looked at me. Surprise gave way to passion as I grabbed her face and kissed her, and then I began to make love to Bella. Slow and deep, a stark counterpoint to the frenetic, passionate, and wild pace we usually set. I could sense something was eating at her, something was pulling her from me, and so I poured everything I felt into the sex. I couldn't articulate it, hell I hadn't even consciously recognized it, but my body tried to convey it nonetheless, a glorious treason that left me breathless and dazed.

And then she dropped the bomb. Edward. He'd stormed back into her life and everything in me rebelled against the thought. I didn't even know the man, and I wanted to end him. I hated him for how he hurt her, and despite the fact that it brought her to me I couldn't stand that she was hurt when he left, and was hurting again. How did he dare return after so long? Something in me snapped; all I could think about was making him disappear and if I couldn't do it in real life, I was going to do it in our bed at Marwand's. I was clinging to her and I couldn't understand how she didn't register my desperation, but I told her I was going to make her forget him.

I think, for a time, I succeeded.

When I woke in the morning she wasn't in the bed next to me, and I didn't like it. I watched as she sat at the small desk, typing away on her laptop, undoubtedly updating her journal. How I wished to know what she was writing in there. Was she writing about me? About Edward? Or, perhaps she wasn't writing about either of us. Perhaps she was writing about her sisters, or the meeting we had coming up, or her stance on stem cell research. I had no clue, but I wanted to know. I wanted to delve into that fascinating mind of hers; past the walls she erected to keep people out. I wanted to investigate every nook and cranny and understand what made her tick.

I wanted her completely and without reservation and I was, therefore, thoroughly fucked because I had no clue how to get beyond her defenses. Hell, I had no idea how to deal with my own, and I was troubled by what I was feeling. It was a change in our unspoken rules. So, instead, I watched her; settling for the look on her face as she concentrated, the way she nibbled on her lip and her tongue snuck out at the corner, and the way the morning sun graced her face and silhouetted her body under my shirt.

Bella caught me watching her, and when I told her she was beautiful, her blush crept across her whole body. She really didn't grasp just how stunning she was. She believed she was rather plain, and although she thought she cleaned up okay, she always measured herself against Rose and found herself lacking.

Then later that day, after the meeting, all hell broke loose and suddenly the prospect of losing her seemed so much more real, and once I knew we were safe in the cave I was driven to take her, hard. I needed to possess her, to mark her, to make her mine before the dangers of this world, of our life, of Edward, took her away from me.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and realized that all my reminiscing had left me with a rather large problem, one I didn't feel like sharing with Edward and Rose. Instead I lathered up my hand and reached down, gripping myself tightly. With the first stroke my head filled with images of Bella. I filtered through and found one of my favorites.

_We'd gotten back to our hotel in Khartoum, after a grueling few days in Darfur. I'd gone down to the front desk to pick up a package, and I also ordered some room service. We were too tired to go out for dinner. I came back to the room, set my package on the table and undressed. I heard Bella in the shower and decided I would surprise her by joining._

_When I walked into the bathroom, I was treated to a glorious sight through the clear glass of the shower door. Bella was sitting on the low, tiled bench in the shower, one foot up on the seat next to her, and her legs were spread wide open. Her skin glistened from the water, and the wild strands of her hair that clung to her shoulders and skimmed her breasts looked nearly black against her pale skin. Water beaded down her chest and dripped off her tight nipples, while she held the removable shower head in one hand, and was using it to get off. Bella looked up and smirked as she let her knee fall to the side, exposing herself to me completely._

My hand was moving quicker now, stroking up and down, my thumb circling the tip as I supported my weight with my other hand against the wall. I dropped my head to my shoulder as my hips began to thrust in time to my strokes.

_Her head fell back and her other hand trailed down her neck to her breasts. She cupped one, tweaking and rolling the nipple with her fingers, a soft moan escaping her mouth. I stepped into the shower, allowing the spray from the overhead spout to drench me. I moved closer to her, stopping perhaps less than a foot away. I leaned forward, and heard her intake of breath as she expected me to touch her. Instead, I reached over her head to grab the bottle of complimentary body wash and squirted some into my hands. I straightened up and began to run them across my chest, watching her face as she watched my hands. I slid one down and began to stroke myself in front of her. Her eyes widened and her breathing became heavier._

_She moved her hand between her legs, and began to finger herself in time to the pulses of the shower head against her clit. I watched as her ever-present flush deepened and her chest moved quicker as she began to pant. I continued to stroke myself in time with her. Neither of us spoke and we didn't take our eyes off each other. I watched as her hips began to shift slightly and she slid another finger in. And then she groaned in the sexiest fucking way as her orgasm swept through her and she finished with a breathy, "oh god!"_

_Watching her come undone like that sent me over the edge and I came, striping her leg and stomach with it, her name falling in whispers from my lips._

My memory served me well, and with a final tug I came all over the sterile tile wall of the hospital shower. "Bella," I whispered, once again her name falling from my lips effortlessly.

 _Bella, Bella, Bella_. It became a cadence in my head. I pulled on my pants, and in my mind's eye I saw the small smile that graced her lips as she slyly watched me get out of bed at Marwand's and pull on my jeans. I drew my shirt over my head and remembered how she looked wearing it that morning. I brought the collar to my nose and inhaled. Strawberries.

My stomach clenched, and I turned and punched a nearby locker, denting it.

Why? Why did it have to happen? I was okay with the way things were. We would have gotten to the airport in Kabul, we would have kissed and said our usual goodbye, "in this life or the next," and then we would have boarded our separate planes. That was the way it worked. I walked away and pretended none of it mattered. That was the way I kept things in control.

In the hospital, however, I was forced to confront my feelings—for Bella, about myself, about Maria and Peter, and about the kind of man I'd become. I wasn't ready for so much introspection; it was too painful, and yet I couldn't run from it.

I could, however, dodge it for a little while. I had to make a call.

I walked outside, lit a cigarette, dug out my sat phone and dialed. The voice on the other end answered after two rings.

"I expected your call sooner."

"Something came up."

"Yes. I know. That's why I expected you to call sooner. I thought you'd want to reassure me that one of my assets was alright."

I shouldn't have been surprised that he already knew what happened. "If you knew what happened, you already knew that I was fine."

"Who said I was talking about you?" he countered.

A cold fist of dread punched my gut. The voice on the other end laughed and said, "I'm kidding, Jasper."

But I knew he wasn't. Aro Volturi did not kid. Which meant . . . _fuck_. I lit another cigarette with the remains of the previous one.

"Jasper?"

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"I have a job for you, if you're interested."

I took a drag and exhaled. I wasn't beholden to Aro. I took and declined jobs as I liked. I really was "freelance," but I still had to think about it. Taking the job meant leaving. It meant getting away from everything I was being forced to face. But it was also the coward's way out. It meant turning tail and running. It also meant leaving Edward perfectly placed to scoop Bella up when she opened her eyes.

"I can't leave now," I replied.

"Interesting. I didn't take you for a sentimentalist."

I closed my eyes. "It's not sentimentality, Aro. She's my partner. I can't leave her."

"She wouldn't be alone. She has her sister and Mr. Cullen to see to her."

I didn't respond.

"Ah! I see that it is more complicated. Very well. I shall pass the job on to Felix. Take care, Jasper."

"Thank you, sir." I snapped the phone shut and thumped my head against the wall in frustration. The Spider had his fingers on Bella. I should have known. When he didn't try to stop my work with her, I should have fucking known.

Now, more than ever, I regretted handing over the flash drive to Rose. I thought I was being a gentleman. I was doing the right thing, no matter how much I may have wanted to read what she had to say about me. But after that phone call, all I could think about was how to get my hands on it again and look for any mention of Aro and his connection to Bella.

I felt a shadow fall across me. I didn't even need to open my eyes. "What do you want, Black?"

"I never did understand how you did that, Whitlock."

I shrugged. Honestly though, it was easy. Jake always wore the same after shave and I could smell him a mile away. I stayed silent.

"They want to move her to Landstuhl."

My eyes opened at those words, and my mouth followed suit, "No!"

His brows quirked up. "You know that's standard operating procedure. They patch 'em up here and send them on to Germany."

Of course I knew that. Jake knew that I knew that. He was baiting me. My day was going from bad to shit in a matter of minutes.

"It's just a plane ride, Jasper . . ." he mocked.

I looked at him blandly, doing everything I could to rein in my anger. Jake knew full well I was persona non-grata at the base in Germany, and that I'd be flagged before my plane even landed.

"Quit the crap Jake," I snarled.

Jake sighed. "Jasper, I never—"

"Don't. Just don't." I cut him off. When was he going to get that I wasn't going to talk to him about them? "You're here for a reason, and it's not just to let me know they're moving Bella."

"Fine. I can get you into Germany if you want to go."

This had Company written all over it. "What do you want in return?"

He chuckled. "Never one for bullshit were you, Jasper? We want Volturi."

I laughed. "Y'all don't want much do you? What makes you think I can give him to you?"

"C'mon Jasper. I'm not an idiot. You work for him."

"No, I don't," I replied. "I'm strictly freelance."

Jake furrowed his brow and ran a hand across his mouth. "Fine. Then give me a name. One name and you've got your ticket into Germany," he paused. "But Jasper, make it a good name."

 _Son-of-a-bitch_. Jake had me over the proverbial barrel, and he knew it. He'd already sussed out my feelings for Bella and knew that I would jump at the chance to stay with her. But if I handed over one of Aro's people and it traced back to me? I'd _wish_ I were a dead man.

I also knew that there was one other thing I could offer Jake that would get me what I want, but I wasn't willing to give that. I wasn't sure there was a high enough price for absolution. So, I wracked my brain for a name.

"Demetri," I said thinking quickly. I knew he was a mid-level player in the Volturi's organization, and I'd had almost no contact with him, so it wouldn't likely be traced back to me.

"Last name?"

I shook my head. "If he has one, I've never heard it. He helps coordinate the flow of product through the States." He wasn't a major cog in the operation, but he would know more names and Jake and the Company would have to be happy with that.

Jake looked at me and nodded. "How's she doing?" he asked.

I shook my head and laughed. "Like you care?"

"Jasper . . ." he threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fine. When they move her, you'll be clear to go. Okay?"

I nodded and watched as he turned and walked away.

I flicked the butt of my cigarette away and made my way back inside; back to Bella's room and my very uncertain future.


	12. Chapter 12

_Sweet Disposition_  
Never to soon  
Oh reckless abandon  
Like no one's  
Watching you

_A moment, a love, a dream aloud,  
A kiss, a cry, our rights, ours wrongs_

_So stay there_  
Cause I'll be coming over  
While our bloods still young  
It's young and it runs  
Won't stop till it's over  
Won't stop till you surrender

"Sweet Disposition" – The Temper Trap

* * *

EPOV

I sat in the cafeteria picking at what passed for a hamburger and trying to understand how Bella had come to be where she was. Obviously, I knew how she came to be hospitalized, but I was trying to understand how and why she embarked on such an insane and dangerous path in her life. I took another bite of the burger, and grimaced as I thought of how Rose had to remind me to eat.

Even after so many years, after so many years of learning to become my own man, as soon as I was near Bella I fell into my old patterns. If Rose hadn't reminded me to eat, I would have sat at Bella's bedside until I collapsed. Disgusted with myself, I pushed away the tray but then forced myself to bring it back and pick at everything until I'd finished it.

Rose slid into the chair across from me.

"You left her alone?"

She shook her head. "They kicked me out while they change her bandages. Told me to come back in half an hour." Rose sat back in the chair and brought her cup of coffee to her lips. Her hair was pulled back, and she had no make-up on, but she still looked beautiful, and strong.

A moment later the chair next to her moved and Jasper sat down, gripping his own cup of coffee. I didn't know the man, but even I could see he looked worn and drawn. I didn't like it, but it was obvious he cared deeply for Bella. I just had no idea what she felt for him.

"You okay?" I asked him, nodding my head toward his shoulder, where a bandage could be seen peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt.

Jasper shrugged and muttered, "I've had worse."

At that moment, I didn't doubt it.

"They're going to move her to Germany," Jasper said.

"What?"

"When?"

Rose and I both asked, shouting over each other.

"Not sure when. This hospital is only a way station. They patch up the injured, and those that need longer term care are shipped to Landstuhl. My guess is as soon as they think she's stable enough to survive the flight."

"How do you know all this?" I asked.

He leaned back in his chair, brought the coffee cup to his mouth and said, "I know people here," before taking a sip.

I snorted. "I'm sure you do," I said.

He quirked a brow at me and grinned, but the smile didn't touch his eyes. "And what is it you _think_ you know about me, _Edward_ ," he returned, emphasizing my name in a way that made me feel like he knew quite a bit about _me_.

I leaned forward, clasping my hands together and resting my chin on them as I looked him straight in the eye. "I know that you're not a doctor, so Bella wasn't working with you for MSF. I know that if you've 'had worse,'" I grimaced repeating his words, "then you're probably hired muscle of some kind. And I _know_ that she's lying there after almost dying because _you_ didn't keep her safe. How am I doing so far?" I retorted.

He leaned toward me, so that we were almost nose to nose and, in a tone that was frighteningly calm, said, "You. Don't. Know. Anything." Then he leaned back again. "Not about me. And certainly not about Bella. Not anymore."

"Fuck you," was my brilliant reply.

"Boys," Rose interjected. "This isn't helping. Edward, Jasper had nothing to do with Bella—"

"No, Rose," Jasper interrupted. "It's fine. Let him believe it. It helps his guilty conscience. That way, he doesn't have to think about why Bella wound up here in the first place." Jasper's blue eyes were icy and although he was talking to Rose, he kept them pinned to mine.

"Jasper," Rose tried again, but this time I interrupted.

"No, he's right," I said straightening up and leaning back in my chair. I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to scrub away the exhaustion. "I don't know Bella anymore." I stared over at Jasper again. "But that doesn't mean you're good for her either."

"And you think you know what's good for her, Edward? You don't know a fucking a thing about her, or me for that matter. You have this image in your head. You see the young girl you were in love with, don't you? The one who took care of you? That's who you showed off in your little exhibit, am I right? You don't have a fucking clue as to who, or what, is right for her now. Not a fucking clue."

The scariest thing about what Jasper said was the fact that he never raised his voice, and that he was absolutely fucking right. I knew nothing about who Bella was anymore. The fact that we were there, in fucking Afghanistan of all the god-forsaken places on Earth, was testament to that.

But I loved her. I'd always loved her. I'd never stopped loving her. And I was going to do whatever I could to figure out who she was, who she'd become, and how to be what _she_ needed.

"Do you mean that?" Jasper asked.

"What?" I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud. "Yes," I said with utter conviction.

Jasper turned to Rose. "Give it to him," he said.

Rose blanched. "You can't be serious."

"He wants to know. He should know."

"She'll kill me. She'll kill you."

I watched their exchange in stunned silence. I had no idea what they were talking about.

"And if it means her happiness?" he asked.

Rose looked at him for a minute, then said, "You are one in a million Jasper Whitlock." She stood, reached into her pocket and pulled something out. She put it down on the table, her hand still covering it and said to me, "I'm doing this for her. Not for you," before she walked away.

I looked down in front of me and saw a flash drive sitting on the table. I frowned as I looked at it. I had no idea what it meant.

Jasper stood up as well. "You wanted to know about her? It's all there. I hope you can handle it," he said as he strode off.

I picked up the tiny piece of silicon and plastic, still warm from Rose's body, and fingered it gently. The answers I sought were there. I gripped it in my hand and reached for my laptop bag on the chair next to me. I powered up the computer, inserted the drive and opened the file, only to be faced with dated entries. I furrowed my brow before realization hit me.

"Fucking hell," I whispered.

Bella's journal. They'd given me Bella's journal.

_September 25, 1990_

_The pretty boy was in class today. He sat behind me and he smelled like gum. At recess, James pushed him down but he didn't cry. His name is Edward._

_October 1, 1990_

_I talked to Edward today. He talks so quietly. At recess Rose stopped James from hitting him. She's so brave. I helped Edward pick up his folder, and when I gave it to him our fingers touched. I got a shock. Like when Daddy showed me when I rubbed my socks on the carpet. But I wasn't wearing socks._

I sat still in my seat, taken back to that day nearly twenty years earlier. It was the first time James came after me. The first, but not the last, nor was it the last time Rose had to come to my rescue. I could taste the humiliation in my mouth as I remembered how I just lay there, waiting for the blows that never landed. I also remembered with perfect clarity the moment my fingers touched Bella's. I never knew she felt it too.

And I remembered that she smelled like strawberries from her Lip Smacker lip gloss, which she used for years and, to this day, I can't even look at strawberries without thinking of Bella.

_October 25, 1990_

_Edward was over again today. Mommy was so happy. She really likes him. They painted pictures all afternoon and Edward gave me one. Well, he gave ones to Alice, Tanya and Rose too. But he gave me mine first._

_November 5, 1990_

_I didn't see Edward yesterday, but today he had a fat lip. I asked him if it was James, but he wouldn't say anything. He was really quiet, and he didn't paint any pictures today. Mommy looked sad._

I closed my eyes and clenched my fist shut. The fat lip. You'd think having so many I wouldn't remember them all, but I did. I remembered my mother screaming at me when I told her I was going to the Swans after school. I remembered the name calling and the cursing. I remembered the way her hand struck out, and the feel of her ring as it cut open my lip. I remembered her crying and apologizing and clinging to me until she finally passed out reeking of gin. I skipped school that day, but there was no hiding my lip the day after. When Bella asked if it was James, I didn't bother to correct her.

Bella's early entries were filled with these short musings, and it was fascinating to see myself through her eyes. I scrolled forward a little.

_December 12, 1990_

_Edward scared me today. We got home from school and I was telling him about the new book I was reading and he just fell and I couldn't wake him up. I screamed and screamed and Daddy called an ambulance. Daddy told me that Edward has diabetes and forgot to check his blood sugar levels._

_I need to make sure that never happens again. I can't let anything happen to him. I asked Mommy about it and she said we had to make sure he eats and checks his blood. So that's what I'm going to do. Rose doesn't need me anymore, and Alice and Tanya always take care of each other, so Edward is mine to take care of._

I groaned and cursed as I read her words. I loved Renee Swan with all my heart but at that moment I wanted to reach back in time and shake her; shake her for implanting the idea in Bella's head that I was some sort of project, or a pet that needed to be cared for.

No wonder she was always taking care of me.

Tears stung my eyes as I reread the entry. _Edward is mine to take care of_.

 _Mine_. Hers. Always. Even as children I belonged to her and it made my head spin. Or maybe it was my sugar levels. I took out my meter and checked, then injected the insulin. I sat back and thought about what I'd read, and while I was pissed that Renee would dump such a responsibility on a ten year old girl, I was also not foolish enough to believe that the blame could all lie at Renee's feet.

Bella had always been a caregiver. It was a part of her nature, and as we got older she'd talked about becoming a doctor, a pediatrician, and during our years apart I always imagined that's what she would do. The glimpses of her I got from newspapers and magazines didn't say one way or another. They only mentioned when she appeared at some event or another, and if I was lucky they had a picture of her. So I was surprised when I finally returned to Chicago and began to look into her life further that she'd never gone to medical school. Then again, I'd reasoned, it wasn't as though she needed the money a career would provide, so I assumed she was living a life of service and imagined her volunteering with various civic organizations or children's charities.

I never once imagined that she was smuggling supplies into international hot spots and risking her life in the process.

On and on the entries went, our lives through her perspective. Her view of me was so skewed. I'd never understood what she saw in me, and reading those early entries didn't make it any clearer. Who did she think she was seeing?

Then I came across one particular entry—one particular day just after my thirteenth birthday and a few months before hers.

_June 25, 1994_

_I don't know whether I want to kill Edward, or kiss him. We were walking home from school, just the two us, since Alice and Tanya stayed home with the flu and Rose was at science club. I was watching Edward as he walked. He was looking at everything as we went, and I recognized that look on his face; the one that said he was going to paint when we got home. I loved that expression, it reminded me of Mom. I had a moment of jealousy, just a teeny bit, because I knew that when we got back the two of them would spend the next two hours in the studio drawing or painting. But then it was gone, because I knew when they were done it, whatever it was, would be beautiful, because that's what Edward does, he makes things beautiful._

_I watched as he nearly stumbled over tree roots, and I guided him over the broken bits of cement and places where neighbors didn't pick up after their dogs. Then he turned and was looking at this tree, and I wanted to ask him what he saw. I want to know what it's like to see the world through his eyes, because he makes everything around him seem prettier. Even I feel pretty when I'm near him. I know I'm not, but he makes me feel that way._

_And then I saw James. I tried to warn Edward, but it was too late and he crashed into James and his bike, and oh god James was so mad. He and Laurent were so mean, and Laurent grabbed me, and . . . ugh, James is so disgusting. And then . . . well everything happened so fast, but James grabbed my hair, and it really hurt. I was crying and then, he licked me. He licked me!_

_I didn't know Edward could move that fast. I just . . . I didn't know. Before I blinked James was bleeding from his mouth and Laurent was grabbing his crotch and rolling on the ground, and Edward was grabbing me and we were running home._

_Oh god, they could have really hurt him! But he saved me. He saved me. I yelled at him for being so reckless. Not for me. He's the special one. I'm just . . . me. And Daddy! I could kill him for teaching Edward to fight. Mom was mad too and said that Edward's hands aren't for fighting; they're for making pretty things._

_And Edward is so good. When I yelled at him he said, "They were hurting you, Bella!" I started to cry and he said, "I don't care what they do to me, but they don't get to touch you. No one should ever touch you like that!"_

_My heart broke into a hundred pieces and I realized I love him. I love my Edward, and even though I know he'll never love me the same way, I threw my arms around him, kissed his cheek and thanked him._

Although Bella and I were together for several years, and we sometimes talked about our days growing up, we'd never talked about that day. Never talked about the paradigm shift it caused in our lives. I never knew she loved me then, and I couldn't help but think what would have happened if we admitted it to each other then. Would it have made a difference?

Somehow I didn't think so, because when I looked back on our life, on the time I was lucky enough to be in her life, I could see how it was inevitable from the start. So being "in love" at thirteen, or merely loving each other then, what was the difference?

And was that really how she saw herself? As unworthy of me? Of me? I was the unworthy one. I was the one practically squatting at their house and taking up their mother's time, so desperate and starved for some love, some attention. I was lucky to be in their presence, in her presence, and she thought . . .

She thought I had some gift for seeing the world, but it was the Swans and the girls who opened me to seeing the beauty in things. It was Tanya who showed me the delicate beauty of a blade of grass and the bug that consumed it. Tanya who woke me in the early morning, when the mist still hung low on the ground and the entire campground was asleep, tugging my hand and silently leading me to the edge of the clearing where a doe and her fawn nibbled on the brush. She was Aglaea, beauty and splendor.

It was Alice, my Thalia, who could wring a smile from me no matter what. Alice, who turned my mother's failed attempt at a birthday party into an impromptu banquet, and ensuing food fight that left us all gasping for air amidst our giggles, and she's the one who snuck up to the high window of the detention room when James and I were busted for fighting in high school, and made faces and obscene gestures at the teacher until even James was laughing behind his book.

And it was Rosalie who showed me the true meaning of grace; Euphrosyne personified. She rose above everything that she had endured, and flourished. And when I showed up with split lips and broken fingers, bruised ribs and fear in my eyes, Rose made me lift my chin and go about my day, gracefully. Rose, who sucked down life in great big swallows and just . . . enjoyed herself.

But it was Bella that made me put one foot in front of the other every day. Bella, whose smile I couldn't wait to see when I got to school. Bella and her strawberry scented lips and cocoa hair, whose soft hands would hold mine and remind me to come home. Bella, who became the center of my world with a tentative smile and a hand up off the ground, who became the constant obsession of my pubescent fantasies. Bella, who somehow thought herself unworthy of me, when I was the one taking so much from all of them.

I shook my head, rubbed my eyes and got up to refill my coffee. I sat in front of my laptop once more and looked at the entries.

_September 13, 1994_

_I'm such an idiot. I convinced Mom and Dad to let me have my birthday party down in the basement, without them hanging around. I'm thirteen now and I don't need them watching everything I do. Plus, I knew Rosalie wanted to play a game called Two Minutes in the Closet, and we could never do that if Mom and Dad were around. Rose likes this boy, Felix. I think he's kind of strange, but he's tall like her and he's also in the science club. She wanted me to make sure they got to spend two minutes in the closet._

_Everything was going great until Vickie dared me and Edward to go into the closet. God, I was so nervous and excited. I wanted him to kiss me so badly, and I know he'd never want to on his own, but I thought that because of the game he'd have to, but we just . . . sat there. I mean I know he doesn't like me like_ _**that** _ _, and I know I'm not as pretty as Rose, or as fun as Alice and Tanya, but I didn't think that I'm so disgusting that he wouldn't even kiss me. I feel so stupid._

_And the worst part was that after we came out everyone was slapping Edward on the back and making jokes and he just smiled and didn't say anything, so I didn't say anything. I went back to the party and Rose could tell something was wrong, but I didn't want to talk to her about it. I made sure she got to be in the closet with Felix, and when the party was done I ran up to my room._

_Oh, and when I got here, there was a rolled up painting on my bed with a bow, and I knew it was from Edward, but I haven't been able to look at it yet. He gives us all paintings for our birthdays, and they're beautiful, but I looked at it sitting there and realized that to Edward I was no different than Rose or Alice or Tanya. He saw me as a sister, nothing more._

_I didn't know your heart could be broken when you're thirteen._

I heard a crack and looked down. I'd broken off the handle on the coffee mug and cut my hand.

"Shit."

I grabbed several napkins and wrapped my hand. I remembered that night, the night of her birthday and it was nothing like how she remembered it. I remembered being locked into that closet with her. And I remembered dying to kiss her. And I remembered her staring at the ground the entire time as if she was terrified to be near me, like she was praying I wouldn't even touch her. And I remembered, oh god did I want to kiss her. I wanted to taste strawberry Lip Smacker and Bella. I wanted to smell her shampoo and I wanted to feel the skin of her face and neck, soft and hot under my hands. But she wouldn't even look at me. It took everything I had not to touch her, and apparently I was a fucking idiot who didn't know anything. Not then, and not fifteen years later.

What else had I gotten wrong? And did I really want to know? I thought I did. I thought I wanted to know everything. To know what had driven her to such self-destructive behavior, but if I was feeling so torn and guilty just from reading her childhood entries, from a period before we'd become a couple, how was I going to handle reading what came later?

I looked up and saw Jasper.

"They have the results of her CAT scan."

The look on his face was full of . . . love. The man loved Bella. It was etched in every line of his face.

The big questions though were whether she loved him too, and if I could handle reading about it. I honestly wasn't sure of the answers.


	13. Chapter 13

_Oh love is never easy_  
It's almost always out of your way  
It's not the path of least resistance  
It's not some words you get to say  
It's a stream running up a mountain  
It's a wave rolling out from the shore  
Wish I could say I never felt that way before

 _I have a friend who's lonely_  
She is chasing after her dreams  
And she is the one and only  
One who knows how hard it could be

 _There's a treasure on her island_  
Buried in the city of news  
Wish I could say we didn't have that much to lose

Mary Black – "Treasure Island" _  
_

* * *

CPOV

I woke the next morning lying on the floor of my office, sunlight streaming through the large windows, the light too bright, too real. I groaned as I rolled over, seeing the prisms thrown from the empty crystal decanter lying next to me on the floor. I scrubbed at my face with my hand and continued to lay there.

I stared up, tracing the shadows as they moved across the coffered ceiling, dipping into the boxes and slipping across the carpentry. Time moved in increments across my office, as the shadows played and grew, until finally I had to drag my hung over, and possibly still drunk ass off the floor. I shuffled to the kitchen and pulled out the small brass _ibrik_ , adding water and the strong Turkish coffee that M . . . Bella had introduced me to.

 _Bella_.

I watched as the coffee came to a boil, then stirred in the sugar and brought it to a boil once more before pouring into my waiting cup. I blew across the top, seeing the steam float and return, repeating the action as I made my way to the French doors off my kitchen, stepped outside, and finally parked myself on one of the wood plantation chairs. I closed my eyes and took a sip, allowing the strong, sweet coffee to roll over my tongue before I swallowed.

I hadn't hit the bottle so hard since Esme's death. But after Edward and Emmett left I just refilled my glass, and didn't stop until I'd emptied the decanter. When they were still at the house I was able to function; I had purpose—get Edward to Afghanistan. Once the door closed behind them, and I was alone—again—it all came crashing down.

The pain.

The loss.

The heartache.

Too much. It was just too much. As I drank, I stood by the window, gazing out at the freshly mowed lawn and perfectly manicured garden and saw none of it.

Instead I saw Bella striding across the camp, dust swirling around her boots as the dry winds kicked up. I saw her yelling into her phone, her other hand waving wildly until finally a smile lit her face and I knew she got what she wanted. I remembered grinning as I watched her, my smile widening as she looked up and caught me staring at her from the flap of the tent. I stripped off the latex gloves, tossing them into the bin, and walked across the camp toward her, every step bringing me closer to the heaven that awaited me in her arms and between her legs.

Before I even reached her she quirked a smile and jerked her head to the side, inviting me to follow her as she walked away. She was in the Jeep, the engine was running by the time I got to her, and as soon as I slid in she gunned it. Sitting near her made my pulse speed up; crossing the perimeter of the camp, leaving its security, made it race. We drove across the dusty desert, not saying a word, until the sun began to dip below the horizon and Bella stopped the Jeep in the middle of nowhere.

"C'mere," she said as she slipped out of the car.

She rested against the front of the Jeep and pulled me to her by the hand. I leaned in for a kiss and her mouth opened to mine, welcoming me. I wrapped my arms around her and we stood and watched the sunset, the reds and golds of the sun backlighting the arid plateau and casting it in shadow, the acacia trees looming menacingly in the dark. Bella's body was warm against mine as the temperature dropped with the sun.

We illuminated the dark with the Jeep's headlights, and sought warmth on the hood of the car, and then in the joining of our bodies. There in the dark and empty landscape, with no idea of where the militants or army might be, we grasped at each other, desperate and aroused, needy and incomplete, seeking solace in each other's arms and limbs, feeling the spark of life in each other's sex. The tight, wet heat of her pulled me back from the abyss of my mourning; the dangerous setting igniting my pulse. Our cries were loud and yet lost in the desert night, absorbed by the dirt and the rocks, the trees and the animals; fading, inevitably into the sand.

The phone rang and pulled me from my reverie. It was my contact with MSF letting me know that the plane landed without incident, and I knew that Edward was on his way to the base, and to Bella. The man who was Edward's uncle and wanted his happiness more than anything—who without knowing the details, had seen the self-flagellation and desperation to make amends—wanted Edward and Bella to find their way to each other once more. The man who was Carlisle Cullen, in love with Bella "Marie" Swan, was jealous and angry and . . . heartbroken, because I knew that Bella was not in love with me. I felt it in her touch, and in the desperation of her kisses, the night of Edward's show.

I was angry at Edward for squandering the opportunity to love and be loved by her, and at myself for being jealous and angry in the first place, and at God for putting me in such a position. I was even angry at Esme for dying, which I knew was unfair, but nothing about any of this was fair. Mostly though, I was pissed off that I couldn't be the one for her. That I couldn't be what she needed to heal her heart the way she'd nearly healed mine. And there was nothing logical or rational about my musings. It was all egotistical and self-absorbed and full of self-pity, but I allowed myself to wallow and to mourn, because whatever happened in Afghanistan, and whoever Bella wound up with, it wasn't going to be me.

I finished the coffee and stood up. Walking back into the kitchen, I opened the fridge, knowing I should eat something. Nothing sounded good. I finally just made myself a piece of toast and choked it down. I sat at my computer and checked my email, then gave a cursory look at the mail and other papers on my desk, but I was too out of it to concentrate on them. I wandered aimlessly around the house, picking things up with intent, only to put them down again distracted and unfocused.

Finally, I made my way to the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the remnants of my binge, knowing that it was the only thing it could wash away. I stepped into the glass enclosure and allowed the heat of the water and the pulse of the stream to relax my muscles, grateful for the mini spa Esme had created when she remodeled the house. When I stepped out, I dried myself before tossing the towel into the hamper, and then padded to the bedroom, where I stretched out on the bed. I thought back to the night of Edward's show, to the conversation Bella and I had about Esme and Renee. I thought about seeing Edward at the top of the stairs that night twenty years earlier, and of the fight Esme and Renee had.

Once again I couldn't help but wonder why she wouldn't tell me what they fought about, and as I thought more about that night and about the strange twists and turns that brought both Edward and Bella into my life, I couldn't help but wonder, again, if Esme knew that Edward was my nephew. If that were the case, why would she keep it from me? Why would Renee? What secret were they hiding? What could be so important about a little boy that would cause my wife to keep his existence a secret from me, and drive an irreparable wedge between the two women?

I shook my head. I was most likely reaching; seeing shadows and ghosts where there were none. But still, something nagged at me, poking at the recesses of my memory. I rolled over, looking at the large mirror above the dresser, and then I was seeing Esme standing before it, putting on earrings and checking her hair, her long neck accentuated by the chignon at the nape and the deep "v" back of the dress she wore. I saw myself come up behind her, placing my hands on the dresser on either side of her, kissing her neck.

" _You are ravishing," I whispered against her skin, flicking out my tongue and tasting her vanilla skin._

" _Stop it," she said with a smile. "You're going to make us late."_

_I continued to run a trail of kisses down her neck. Her head lolled back against my shoulder and she whimpered._

" _Carlisle," she breathed as she turned in my arms, her brown eyes wide and bright. "We have to go," she chided._

" _Mhm," I murmured as I pressed against her and slid my hand up along her back._

" _Carlisle," she chided. "Seriously, we'll be late and you need to make a good impression on Dr. Stanley."_

_I groaned against her mouth. "I know. I know. I just hate these things."_

" _I know, sweetie," she said as she pushed me back and made her way across the room, grabbing her purse and her wrap._

" _At least Charlie and Renee will be there to kill the boredom. I can't wait to hear what Charlie has to say about the hospital set," I snorted._

_I saw her stiffen._

" _What's wrong?"_

" _Charlie and Renee won't be there," she said._

" _Why not?"_

" _They just won't."_

" _Esme . . . what aren't you telling me?"_

_I watched as my wife fiddled with her wrap and the straps of her bag._

" _Esme?"_

" _We won't be seeing Charlie and Renee anymore," she finally answered._

" _What? Why not?"_

" _I really don't want to talk about it, Carlisle."_

" _Esme!"_

_I watched her close her eyes as if she were thinking, then she opened them and said, "Renee and I had a . . . disagreement," she paused as if choosing her words carefully. "I guess you could say we agreed to disagree and I just . . . I just think it's best if we don't spend time together."_

" _What happened?"_

" _Really Carlisle, I don't want to talk about it. It's not like we were that close. Our mothers were friends, we were forced to be and it's just . . . it's better this way," she finished._

But they were close, at least since they'd reconnected when we moved back to Chicago. As I recalled the conversation, I remembered feeling like she was holding something back, but then she pointed out the time, we really were running late, and before I knew it the conversation was forgotten in a whirlwind of dresses and drinks and polite conversation. I rolled back over, one arm over my face trying to block out the memories.

God. I just wanted to sleep. I reached over and opened the bedside drawer, grabbing two bottles and shaking out the contents—prescription strength Ibuprofen for the hangover headache, and a couple of Valium to knock me out; one of the perks of being a doctor. _Tomorrow,_ I told myself. _Tomorrow I'll deal with everything. Tomorrow I'll let her go. Tomorrow I'll . . ._ I made a lot of plans, most of them ridiculous. I made a lot of promises to myself, most of them I'd never be able to keep.

And then I welcomed the black of sleep.

The incessant ringing of the phone woke me the next day. I rolled over and looked at the clock. _9:08 a.m._ I'd been asleep for eighteen hours. I had a vague memory of waking up in the middle of the night and swallowing another Valium, but otherwise it had been a dreamless, deep sleep. Yet I hardly felt rested.

I answered the phone, my voice thick, my throat dry and hoarse. "Hello."

"Jesus, Cullen, you sound like shit."

"Embry?" I asked, still trying to shake my head clear of sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to let you know your boy is here. I would have called sooner, but I've been in surgery for the last eight hours."

"Oh. Thanks," I said. "How . . . how is he?"

Embry snorted. "God you two sound alike." I could picture my friend shaking his head as he laughed. "He seemed fine. A bit frazzled, worried, but I didn't get a chance to talk to him. My pager went off and I had to run. I was going to check in on him, them, after I called you."

"And how's," my voice caught in my throat. "How is she?" I finally whispered.

For a moment he didn't talk and then, "Oh Carlisle," and I could hear the sympathy in his voice. "It's her, isn't it?"

I didn't answer him, just repeated my question. "How is she? Is she awake yet?"

He sighed. "She's stable, but isn't awake yet. Uley said that if everything looks okay after her CAT scan, they'll ship her to Landstuhl."

I nodded as he spoke, as if he could see me.

"I don't know if they'll dial down the meds before or after shipping her out."

I held the phone to my ear, and I listened to the voice of my friend; my brain processed the information but in my mind's eye pictured her lying on a hospital bed, pale, her dark hair fanning out on the pillow, Edward holding her hand and sitting next to her, and a sound escaped my mouth, something between a sob and a groan.

"Carlisle? Shit, man. It is her. And Edward is your nephew? Fuck. Carlisle . . . this is . . . it's . . ." he trailed off.

I took a deep breath. "It's a Jerry Springer kind of story," I quipped, and heard my friend chuckle from two thousand miles away.

"Fucking hell Cullen, you don't do anything the easy way, do you?"

"Nah, I leave that to you." Which was the ultimate joke. Embry Call hadn't taken the easy road a day in his life, and I was proud to call him a friend.

"What else can I do Carlisle? I'll do whatever I can, you know that."

"I know, Embry. Just . . . just keep me posted, okay?"

"You know I will."

"And Embry, thanks."

"Anytime."

I hung up the phone and forced myself out of bed. It was tomorrow. It was time to start dealing with my life. I showered and dressed, made my way downstairs, had some coffee and breakfast, and headed to the hospital.

On the way I made a call. "Carmen? Hi sweetheart, how are you? . . . Good, good. Listen, I need to get back into the field . . ."


	14. Chapter 14

_And so there's a change, in your emotions._   
_And all these memories come rushing_   
_like feral waves to your mind._   
_Of the curl of your bodies,_   
_like two perfect circles entwined._   
_And you feel hopeless and homeless_   
_and lost in the haze of the wine._

The Airborne Toxic Event - "Sometime Around Midnight" _  
_

* * *

EPOV

The hum of the plane's engines threatened to lull me to sleep, but I didn't want to sleep yet. I wanted to keep reading. We were on our way to Germany, flying into Ramstein Air Base and making our way to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. It was an odd party: Bella, on a stretcher and medically supervised, Rose, Jasper, and myself. I know Rose was able to hitch a ride because she was Bella's family. Carlisle's friend Dr. Call wrangled me a spot on the plane as well, but I had no idea how Jasper wound up with a seat, and I didn't like it; I didn't like that he was there, and I didn't like that I had no idea _how_ it was that he was there.

The results of Bella's CAT scan were just . . . okay. They didn't show any additional swelling, but Dr. Uley said that would have liked to see more of the original swelling go down. However, Bella remained stable and there was no immediate danger to her, so they authorized her transfer to Germany, and several hours later there we were, our bizarre little group sitting on a medical transport plane.

Even though I wanted to be near Bella, I didn't want Jasper or Rose looking over my shoulder as I read, and despite the fact that they were the ones who encouraged me to read her journal in the first place, a part of me still felt wrong doing so. And maybe that should have stopped me from reading it, but I was desperate—desperate to understand Bella again. Desperate to know who she was as an adult and how she became that way, and desperate, to know my role in it.

In short, I was fucked because no matter what I did, Bella would be mad at me. She was already mad at me, possibly even hated me. If she knew I read her journal, she would likely be furious with me. I rationalized that either way I'd earned her ire, her enmity. All I could pray for was that by reading it, I'd understand enough to make amends in some way. Maybe, I'd be able to be the man Bella needed and deserved. The irony that I left for exactly that reason was not lost on me, and my only comfort was that both Jasper and Rose approved of the course of action. If _they_ thought it might benefit Bella, then my decision couldn't be too far off, or at least not the utter disaster that my leaving had been.

What I couldn't understand was what Jasper's incentive in the plan was. No one could be that selfless, could they? I tried to put myself in his place. Would I willingly hand over to Jasper something that might send Bella into his arms? I wasn't sure I could, not after everything I'd been through to work my way back to her. Whatever the others, and Bella, thought of my actions, I did have the best of intentions when I left and I truly believed I was doing right by her. As they say though, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and that is exactly where I wound up.

However, everything I'd been through, everything I'd endured, led me to one, hard, undeniable truth: I was irrevocably, irreversibly, and desperately in love with Bella, and nothing and no one else would ever replace her—I know, I'd tried—and I would do whatever it took to win her back.

So, I questioned Jasper's motives and the depth of his feelings for Bella, because I'd already been there. I'd already walked away once, and it was apparently an unmitigated disaster; a disaster that Jasper seemed to know all about. This left me feeling uneasy. Was he one of those idealists who believed in the old adage of setting free that which you love or, did he have an ulterior motive? Did he hope that Bella would be so angry with me that she would shut me out? Or, did he hope that I'd be so disheartened by what I read that I'd give up? Or, was there still some other reason I was unaware of?

Whatever the reasons, causes, or purpose of my "mission," as I took to calling it my head, I was determined to get through as much of it as I could before Bella woke up. Although I wanted to read every word, every moment of what she thought was important, I knew I didn't have the time. Instead, I skipped forward another year, to another birthday—one that marked us more indelibly than anything in our history until then.

_September 13, 1995_

_I'm not even sure if I should try to write tonight. I don't even feel like myself. I feel like I'm living in a dream and if I do anything to tie it to reality, it'll disappear._

_Edward kissed me._

_Really, really kissed me._

_Not because of a game. Not on a dare, but because he wanted to._

_Oh god, I love him so much! I just hope this wasn't a dream. What if I wake up in the morning and I realize it was? I know. I won't go to sleep. I'm going to stay up all night, and pinch myself and . . . oh, I don't know what else! I feel like Cinderella when the prince dances with her, but I'm afraid, because it's approaching midnight and the magic will end, and I'll wake up and it'll all just be a fairy tale._

_My birthday party was the same old same old as always. Like last year, for my thirteenth, we hung out in the basement and played stupid games like Spin the Bottle and Two Minutes in the Closet. Edward and I didn't get picked for the closet, and I wound up having to kiss Eric during Spin the Bottle, but tonight when we were cleaning up at the end of the night, after everyone left . . ._

_Alice, Tanya and Rose had already gone upstairs, taking up bowls of chips and candy, and Edward was helping me put the pillows back on the old couches we kept in the basement. As I started to head to the stairs, he grabbed my arm._

" _Bella!"_

_I turned to him, and oh god, he was so beautiful. His hair was falling into his eyes, but I could tell that his brows were all drawn together the way they get when he's thinking hard._

" _What's wrong, Edward?"_

_He looked at me, and god his eyes are so pretty, almost like a girl's with those long lashes, and he opened and closed his mouth like he was going to say something, and then he reached out and touched my face. "You're so pretty, Bella. I . . ." but he didn't finish. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed me._

_His lips were so soft. My eyes closed and for a moment, nothing happened. And then he began to push with his mouth against mine, his lips moving and a little wet, and it was . . . perfect. That was when I felt it again, that electric feeling I got the first time I touched him on the playground. Then his tongue brushed against my lips and I opened them and oh my god! We French kissed and it was nothing like was Rose told me about. He didn't shove his tongue in my mouth and he didn't slobber all over my face. It was like a story, or a movie. It was amazing and perfect and I can't wait to do it again!_

_I came back to my room after, and just twirled around like a complete dork! So now I'm writing this all down, in case I wake up tomorrow and it was just a dream. Because there's no way someone as beautiful and wonderful as Edward could want to kiss me. I'm just . . . me. Plain, ordinary me. But if this is just a dream, then maybe when I read this I'll remember it all, and I can have that. I can have that little bit of Edward._

I couldn't read anymore of it. It drove me mad. Just the thought, the implication, that she didn't think herself worthy of me; that she thought she was just . . . ordinary, made me crazy. Bella had always been self-deprecating. She'd always deflected attention from herself, but for so long I'd believed it was just modesty. Until one time, when we were in college . . . god, I suddenly remembered that day.

Bella had come to the art room to meet me after class. She was a little early and several of us were still packing away our gear and canvases. I introduced Bella to a few of my classmates: Chelsea, Afton, Collin, Kim and Gianna, and then we all wound up having some coffee and a bit to eat at the little café in the student union, which served an amazing cream of broccoli soup in a sourdough bread bowl. Somehow, by the time we were all settled down, I was sitting between Gianna and Afton, while Bella was across from me between Chelsea and Kim, with Collin making up the end.

We had what I thought was a nice time, the conversation was lively and varied, and Gianna charmed us with stories of her family in Italy, and of what it was like to spend summers there, including a brief course in the summer at one of the many art schools in Florence, where she was able to spend time drawing in the various awe inspiring galleries of the Uffizi.

I noticed as the conversation went on that Bella was getting quieter. She was looking down and picking at the bread bowl, her soup nearly untouched, her coffee growing cold. I tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't so much as look at me. Finally, she stood up and excused herself, claiming an appointment with one of her professors. But I'd known Bella too long not to recognize when she was lying; she was a terrible liar. As she walked away, I stood as well, making my excuses, pulling my arm away from where Gianna grasped it as she tried to convince me to stay.

"Bella!" I called out as I walked out the door, following her hurried footsteps. Her hair swayed back and forth, as she all but ran from the student union. "God damn it, Bella!" I cursed as I sprinted after her.

When I finally caught up to her, I heard her murmuring, "Midnight. It's finally midnight and the fairy tale is over."

"Bella, baby," I said as I grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Jesus, what's wrong?" Tears streaked her face, but what scared me most wasn't that she looked frightened or sad. She looked . . . resigned.

"Nothing," she sniffled. "Everything," she barked out a hysterical little laugh.

"Bella, you're making no sense and you're scaring the shit out of me," I told her. I tried to brush the tears from her face and move her hair behind her ear, but she pulled away, not letting me touch her.

"It's okay, Edward. Really. I always knew . . ." she trailed off. "It's where you belong. Who you belong with." She turned and started walking again and I stood there for a moment gaping, because I still had no fucking clue what she was going on about.

"Bella!" I hurried after her again, but she wouldn't stop walking. "Bella. Bella!" I got in front of her, walking backwards so I could see her, force her to look at me. "Jesus Christ, Bella. This isn't fucking funny anymore!" I shouted as I grabbed her shoulders. "At least look at me, Bella," I continued, giving her shoulders a small shake.

"Buddy, it doesn't look like the lady wants to talk to you," some guy interjected. He took Bella by the elbow. "Are you okay miss? Is this guy hassling you?"

"Get your fucking hands off her," I growled.

"Hey man, I'm not the one scaring her," he retorted.

"I'm not—"

"It's alright," Bella interrupted. She gave the guy a wan smile and repeated, "It's alright. Really. Thank you."

The guy shook his head and walked away muttering something about assholes, but I put him out of my mind and focused on Bella. "What are you talking about, Bella? What's where I belong? Who?" I was so confused.

She finally took a shuddering breath and without lifting her eyes to me said, "There. Back at the café, with them . . . with Gianna."

"Wait. Are you telling me you're jealous?" I asked, stunned. "Is that what this is about?"

"No." She shook her head. "I'm not jealous. I mean I am, but, it's . . ." her breath caught, and I almost didn't catch the rest, "not with me. You should be with someone like her. Someone beautiful and artistic. Someone worthy of you," she finished in a whisper.

Her words gutted me. How could she think that? How could she believe she was unworthy? Unworthy of me of all people! And she thought Gianna was more beautiful than her? Had I made her feel that way? Was it something I'd done?

I fell to my knees in front of her and wrapped my arms around her legs, burying my face in her stomach.

"Edward! Get up, Edward!"

I shook my head, my face rubbing against the soft nap of her sweater. "No. No, I can't. Not until you stop this." I looked up at her, wincing at the tears that still streaked her face. "I love you Bella Swan. You and only you. You are my everything. Don't you get that yet?"

She shook her head, disbelief painting her features. Her mouth opened once, twice, as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"I love you," I continued to murmur. "I love you. I love you. I—"

I felt her hands on my head and her fingers card through my hair, "Shh," she whispered. "Stop. I'm sorry. C'mon," she said as she reached down to tilt my chin up. Her eyes still shone with unshed tears and her cheeks were wet, but she smiled and tugged at my jacket. "Let's go home."

I couldn't stop touching her the entire way home, whether it was to brush the hair from her face or hold her hand, I had to be in contact with her the entire time; I had to make sure she wasn't running off again. And when we got home, I wordlessly pulled her to our room.

I closed the door behind us and unbuttoned her coat. She moved to take it off herself, but I stopped her. "Let me," I whispered and pressed a kiss to her cheek. I kneeled at her feet and unzipped her low-heeled boots, pulling them off one at a time, before sliding off her socks.

When I stood she said, "Edward, you don't have to—"

I put my finger to her lips to silence her. "Yes. Yes, I do," I said. "You don't believe me when I tell you how much I love you. Let me show you."

I took her by the hand to the bathroom, where I turned on the water to fill the tub. Then I turned to Bella and continued to undress her. I helped her into the tub and then quickly stripped and climbed in behind her.

I wrapped my arms around her and told her once again that I loved her, and then I began to wash her, reverently caring for every inch of her, trying to show her with my touch just how much I loved her. I turned her head to the side and using a washcloth carefully cleaned her face of her tears and the little streak of mascara that remained. After rinsing her hair, I lathered my hands with body wash and worshipped her with them, loving her through touch and feel, and words.

"So soft," I whispered as I ran my hands over the skin of her shoulders. "So warm and smooth," I continued as I massaged across her stomach. "You're just so beautiful," I told her as she stood before me so I could soap her legs, my hands sliding up to cup and squeeze her ass. I leaned in and placed a gentle kiss near her hip, enjoying her sudden intake of breath. I smiled against her skin and placed another chaste kiss right at the apex of her sex and then moved away.

"Edward," she moaned, but I didn't take it further, although I admit to enjoying her frustrated whimper. I stood and rinsed her, the water sluicing down her body, her skin glistening in the light.

"Absolutely stunning," I said I trailed my hand down her body, tracing my fingers along her shoulder and collar bones, down between her breasts, just grazing along the inside of one, and trailing my hand down to her hip. "Perfect. Now come here," I said as I held out a towel for her. She smiled and stepped out of the bath, and I wrapped her up and dried her carefully.

"Edward, you don't have to do all this," she said.

"But I want to, Bella." I dried myself quickly and then led her back into the bedroom.

My hand found the back of her neck and I pulled her to me. I took her mouth, slow and gentle at first, enjoying the softness of her lips, the honey-sweet taste of her, until the kisses became something else, something desperate and hungry. Breaking away from her lips, I moved down her neck, kissing, nibbling, licking. Until I pressed her down on the bed and moved over her. Then, with my mouth and my hands I caressed, and adored every inch of her, trying to impart with touch and taste what I'd clearly failed to do with my words; trying to press into her very skin the depth and totality of my love for her.

And when I finally slid up her body and fitted mine to hers, when I was finally inside her and surrounded by the warm, wet silk of her, I leaned down and kissed her again, whispering, "This is it. This is me and you, and nobody else. There won't ever be anyone else for me."

She gasped and her hips rolled to mine, pulling me deeper, netting me tighter. "You," she groaned. "Only ever you."

Then it was us, just us, and the slide of our skin together, and the feel of her breasts against my chest, and her hair in my hand, the taste of her skin against my tongue and heat of her breath against my neck. When she came it was with a strangled scream, and then she clamped down on me and urged me on until I fell against her, limp and sated.

I sucked in a ragged breath as I shook myself from my memories. I looked around the plane, but no one was looking at me. I scrolled forward through her journal entries: when we told our family and friends we were together, our first fight, our first time, our . . . so many firsts.

But through all of those entries, what I saw over and over again was her distorted view of herself.

_January 1996_

_. . . I know Jessica wanted to kiss Edward at midnight. She's prettier, but Edward kissed me . . ._

_March 1997_

_. . . He painted me today and made me feel so beautiful. Is that really how he sees me? . . ._

_November 1998_

_. . . How is it that he doesn't see it? I know that people look at us. I know that people wonder why he's with me. How someone so beautiful can be with someone so . . . ordinary . . ._

Over and over the entries contained the same theme: that Bella was somehow plain and ordinary and unworthy of me, and suddenly, I was grabbing a bag and throwing up because I never really knew. I never understood the depths of her self-doubt and insecurities. And, oh, god if I'd only known. What wouldn't I have done to show her how beautiful, how special, how incredible she was?

Instead our years together were always about me, about my art, my inability to function in the world, my insecurities. I yanked at my hair in frustration. It was exactly why I left in the first place.


	15. Chapter 15

_Aah girl, what are you thinking?_  
I'm thinking that we  
Should stick together.  
I reckon that we  
Should follow our hearts.

 _Alright now let's stick together,_  
Let's follow our hearts.  
Not even lions, can tear us apart.

_I'm looking for answers, some kinda relief,  
Some kinda salvation, to make it all complete._

The Features – "Lions"

* * *

RPOV

I watched Edward sleep, hand still on the touchpad of his laptop, the bluish glow of the screen saver playing across his face. He'd been reading Bella's journal for most of our eighteen hour flight to Ramstein, or at least every time I'd woken up and chanced a look at him he had been. It was almost painful to watch the expressions on his face. One moment his face would be animated, almost joyful, and the next there was infinite sadness etched across its planes, as if happiness would never find perch there again. When Edward began to throw up, I reached for my belt buckle to go to him, but Jasper's hand stopped me. I hadn't even known he was watching as well.

"He won't want your help right now," Jasper said.

"How the hell do you know?" I snapped.

"I wouldn't want you to," he replied, and nothing more.

I huffed and may have muttered something about men and assholes, but Jasper just smirked and closed his eyes, while I crossed my arms over my chest and chewed a hole in the inside of my cheek. I still wasn't sure giving Edward the flash drive was the right thing to do, but it made a sort of strange sense. I knew Bella was going to be so angry at me, and probably Jasper, but I also knew that something had to change.

I didn't know if it would help her or not if Edward knew the truth, all of the truth. I didn't know if it would help, or destroy Edward to know everything. I had no idea if it would bring them back together, or send her running into Jasper's arms, or which of those choices I preferred. And I sure as hell had no idea if it would stop her from running headlong into danger at every opportunity. But I did know that Jasper was right about one thing: if Bella was going to have any chance at happiness, something, anything, had to force a change, in one direction or another, because as sure as I was breathing, Bella was going to wind up dead if something didn't.

I tried to take my mind off of Bella and Edward, so I looked at Jasper. "I know you're not sleeping," I said.

"Would it have stopped you talking if I was?"

I laughed. "No, I guess not."

He smiled and turned to look at me. He really was a handsome man. Where Edward possessed an ethereal, almost feminine beauty—like an angelic sculpture come to life: pale skin, amber eyes that saw everything and nothing, and full, red lips that bordered on a pout—Jasper was all male ruggedness: tousled blond hair, blue eyes, a generous, wide mouth, and a tanned, lean body. He reminded me of the Marlboro man, the definitive American icon of masculinity, self-assurance, and brooding sexuality. I could see why Bella was attracted to him, but I could also see the sadness in his eyes; they were haunted. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, who had done too much. They were weary and seemed out of place in someone not even in their forties yet.

"Why is it complicated?" I asked. "You and Bella. You said you weren't married . . ." I trailed off.

His eyes grew darker and the playful smile vanished. He stared at me for a moment, like he was deciding what to do with me. It was almost clinical and, frankly, it frightened me a bit. Then he sighed and turned away again. "It ended badly."

"Ugly divorce?"

He chuckled; it was dark and nasty sounding. "Ugly death," he replied.

"Fuck," I muttered, feeling like a complete ass. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry." I finished lamely.

He exhaled. "It's okay. I don't blame you for wanting to know it's just . . . I don't like talking about them."

 _Them_. The word hit me like a brick. He didn't just lose his wife, he lost . . . _oh fuck_. A kid? Kids? Suddenly, the pain and sadness in his eyes made infinite sense. And so did him and Bella. They shared the pain of losses and heartache so deep, so total, that it forever shaped who they were and who they would be.

"You don't have to . . . talk about them, I mean. I get it."

Jasper grunted and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.

I wondered if Bella knew about Jasper's wife, his family, and I realized she probably did. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep as well, but all I could think about was Jasper and some faceless family. I couldn't help but wonder what they looked like. Did the kid have his blond hair? His eyes? What about that one dimple? The one that made his smile seem a little crooked? Was his wife blond too? Or dark haired? Did the kid have her mouth?

I wondered what a kid of mine would have looked like, and I felt a tear slip out from behind my closed eyes.

 _Fuck_.

It didn't bother me often. But every once in a while that old pain resurfaced, particularly as some of my friends and colleagues had begun getting married and starting families. The worst were the innocuous comments people made, like when my friend Siobhan handed her baby to me to hold during a baby shower, and Kate turned to me and gushed, "Oh you're a natural Rose! You're going to make a great mother some day." Or, when one of them would complain about the inconveniences of pregnancy and all I would think was: _what I wouldn't give to be so inconvenienced._

I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to think of something else and, unbidden, I found myself wondering what a child of mine and Emmett's would look like, a child that could never be, and at _that_ thought my eyes flew open again. Where had that come from?

Emmett. I had to admit that he'd gotten under my skin in a way no one had in years. I found that men were either intimidated by me, which was unappealing, or the ones who weren't were so unbearably "alpha," that I bristled at their attempts to control me. But Emmett . . . Emmett was confident and assured, without being overbearing. He was funny and smart, and surprisingly gentle for a man his size. And the sex had been incredible. There was no awkward fumbling, or over practiced moves. We fit together, like pieces of a puzzle.

Then he surprised me further, offering to help, taking me to the airport, and telling me in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to be a one night thing. What surprised me more was how much I wanted that, wanted it to be more than just one night. I hadn't felt that way about someone in long time, not since Paul during my second year of university.

Paul had been my professor, and at just twenty eight, he was the youngest professor in the school's history, and I thought he hung the moon. He was brilliant and handsome, and he wanted me. To his credit, he said nothing, did nothing until the class was over, and then we spent a year together. Of course we had to hide our relationship, because even if I wasn't in his class, it was still a violation of school policy.

It was one of the happiest years of my life. Paul was an attentive lover. He listened to me, praised my intelligence, and encouraged me to pursue a career in physics. On our one year anniversary he whisked me away for the weekend to a beautiful bed and breakfast. He told me he loved me, and we made love the entire weekend, never leaving the room. We were giddy and stupid with happiness as we made our way back to the real world.

And then his wife came home.

It was the first and last time I let anyone break my heart. In fairness to Paul, they had been separated for over a year, and she had taken a position at another university back in Washington, where they were from. But he'd never told me about her and the pain of that betrayal stung, but nothing like the hurt when he told me that we were over, that he had to give his marriage another chance—that he owed it to Emily. I walked away and never spoke to Paul again, although sometimes I saw him on campus, watching me with sad eyes that pricked my heart and scratched open old wounds.

Emmett was the first man since Paul who managed to balance his physical attraction to me with an appreciation of my intelligence. His frank appraisal of my appearance would have seemed like a leer coming from another man, but from Emmett it was just . . . honest. When we talked, he was engaged and interested, with a whip smart sense of humor, and just the fact that he understood what I was talking about was sexy as hell. And all of that was wrapped up in a tall, broad shouldered, brown haired, blue eyed package.

I thought about that night . . . _God was it less than a week ago?_ I thought about the sexual energy that buzzed around us in the car on the way back to my condo, and the barely contained restraint as we walked up the steps and I opened the door. I smiled as I remembered the way that restraint exploded the minute the door shut and our mouths and hands were all over each other. I found myself discreetly rubbing my legs together as I recalled the way he effortlessly encircled both my wrists with one hand, holding them above my head, as his other hand teased and caressed until I was coming and coming, his hand releasing mine and moving to support me under my ass before I slid to the floor.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, my mouth making circuits up one side of his neck, over his mouth, across his jaw and back down the other side, as he made his way stumbling to my room, bashing his shin on my coffee table, his muttered curses and my laughter mingling in our mouths. My hands were already unbuttoning his pants as we walked in, my fingers dragging down the zipper, and as the fabric slid down his legs and tangled his ankles, we fell on the bed, laughing and kissing and touching.

Then there was no laughing, only sighs and moans and whispers. "There . . ." "Yeah . . ." "Oh . . . wait, yeah, there . . ." "Oh god . . ." "So good . . ." "Fuck I'm . . . I'm . . ." "Yeah me too . . ."

After we recovered, I sat straddled across his hips, exploring his body with my hands and eyes, finding the places that made him moan, the places that tickled, and my fingers traced a scar along his side, just below his ribs.

"What this from?" I asked as my fingers continued to trace the small, but thick scar.

"Knife," he replied.

"Jesus, what happened?"

His fingers wrapped around mine. "I can't really talk about it."

"Oh," I said and started to pull away.

He grabbed me tighter, pulling my hand to his mouth and kissing my palm. "It's not that I don't want to," he paused and looked me in the eye, then ran his thumb over my mouth. "It's just that it's not entirely my story to tell."

I opened my mouth and sucked on his thumb, watching as his eyes rolled back and feeling his hips writhe beneath me. We didn't talk again for a long time. Eventually we fell asleep, Emmett pressed up close to my back, his arms wrapped around me. He was right. I hadn't wanted him to leave.

Of course, it was a short nap, since he woke me up with his head between my legs, and I nearly tossed the phone across the room when it rang. And as I sat there on the plane, I realized I really wanted to be back in my bed, with Emmett's strong arms wrapped around me. The thought frightened me a little, the intensity of what I was feeling so quickly, but there was something about Emmett that engendered trust, and I knew that I was safe with him; physically and emotionally.

I looked over at Edward, his face once again a mask of pain and hurt as he stared at his laptop. Not too long ago I thought I would have enjoyed seeing that look of hurt, the vengeful, protective side of me wanting some payback for what Bella, what all of us, went through when he left, but the better part of me, the part of me that loved them both so much, hurt to see it.

As I looked at him I wondered how he spent the last seven years, and how he and Emmett became friends, and if he knew the story behind Emmett's scar. Emmett's words came back to me _"it's not entirely my story to tell,"_ and I suddenly knew, just knew, that it was tied to Edward somehow.

I got up and went to where the medic was sitting with Bella, giving him a small smile when he looked up. He nodded his head toward the seat next to him, then got up and headed toward the bathroom, giving me a few minutes alone with her. I took her hand in mine, pressing it against my cheek.

"I hope you can forgive me," I whispered to her. "I just want you to be happy again. I just . . . oh Bella, you can't keep doing this," I said, trying to hold back my tears. "We need you," my voice broke and a small sob escaped me, "I need you. Please come back. Please."

I felt a tentative hand on my shoulder and looked up to find Jasper standing next to me. His face a tight mask, emotion simmering just below the surface. "She will," he said. "She's the strongest person I've ever met."

I nodded, wiping away the wetness on my cheeks. "I know," I said as I took a breath and smoothed the hair away from her face. "I know she is."

Jasper and I returned to our seats, and this time when I closed my eyes, I did fall asleep, dreaming of laughing blue eyes and curly brown hair. I woke when we were about an hour out of Germany, comforted by my dream while at the same time I felt a strange ache, a need in the pit of my stomach that I hadn't felt in so many years. Part of me was frightened by it, by that need, but I embraced it and told myself that when we returned home I wasn't going to waste a minute. I wanted Emmett McCarty, and I wouldn't let past pain keep me from happiness; it was a tenet I'd lived by ever since Renee and Charlie and Bella showed me what love was, and one I fully intended to keep living by.

We finally arrived at Ramstein, and Bella was taken to the hospital by ambulance, while Edward, Jasper and I were taken by Jeep. Jasper seemed particularly tense as we drove, and when we arrived at the hospital, I learned why. As we were climbing out of the Jeep and grabbing our bags, I heard a shout.

"Whitlock!"

I saw Jasper's jaw tighten and heard him mutter, "Fuck," under his breath. A large man, an officer from the look of him was bearing down on us, his face red and splotched in anger, he looked apoplectic.

"Colonel Grant," Jasper greeted him.

"I don't know who you fucked to get yourself on my base, but I want you off, now!"

"Ain't gonna happen," Jasper's said. His face maintained a façade of calm, but I could see the evidence of his restraint in the flexing of his hands, the tightness around his eyes, the set of his shoulders.

Grant let out a string of expletives and then said, "I've already called Washington."

"This should be good," Edward whispered to me.

I nodded mutely, watching their exchange like volleys at a tennis match, but Jasper turned to us, "You should check on Bella."

He was right, and as fascinating as what was happening was, we did need to get inside. I grabbed Edward's arm and began tugging him toward the entrance. At first Edward resisted, keeping his eyes on Jasper and Colonel Grant, but at my hissed, "Bella," his eyes shot to my face and he turned toward the door.

We were shown to a waiting room while the doctors and nurses finished examining her and setting her up in her room. Edward pulled out his laptop once more, plugging it into one of the outlets and continued to read Bella's journal, while I sat curled up on a chair watching a little girl play with her Barbie, as her mother sat nearby her face a study in worry and fear.

I got myself a cup of coffee, and one for the woman as well. When I held it in front of her, she looked up at me stunned. "Coffee?" I asked, needing to do something, anything, but sit around more.

"Thank you," she whispered as she took the Styrofoam cup.

"You're welcome."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she said softly. "He got through his tour in Iraq. We thought it would be safe here in Germany . . ." she trailed off, then looked at me again. "Drunk driver."

"Shit," I muttered before clapping my hand over my mouth and looking over at the little girl. I mouthed "sorry" to the mom.

She smiled then. "You should hear Jerry, her dad. He's got a mouth like a trucker." She sucked in a huge breath. "God, what I'd give to hear him curse a blue streak right now." She gasped and covered her face, trying hard not to cry in front of her daughter.

I reached over and rubbed her back, frankly at a loss as to what to do or say. A moment later a doctor walked into the room. "Mrs. Franklin?"

"Please tell me he's okay."

The doctor smiled. "Corporal Franklin is doing fine. In fact he's asking to see you and Hannah," he said nodding toward the little girl.

"Oh thank God," she said as she finally burst into loud tears.

"Momma?"

She scooped the little girl up, planting kisses all over her face and said, "Daddy's fine, baby. Daddy's gonna be just fine."

The pair followed the doctor out and the room was suddenly quiet again. I looked over at Edward, but he was still engrossed in reading Bella's journal and I got the feeling that he'd been completely unaware of anything else. I wondered what it felt like to have someone worry over you that way. It's not that my sisters wouldn't worry about me if something happened to me, but I wondered what it would be like have someone you loved worry about you like that, like the way Edward and Jasper were worrying about Bella.

From my seat I could see Jasper making his way down the hall, tension and anger stamped on his face, but before he reached the room he stopped. I watched him close his eyes, take a deep breath and then shake his shoulders and arms loose. When he opened his eyes again, his face was calm, no trace of any emotion. It was frightening how easily he slipped that mask on.

He walked into the room and asked, "Any word?"

I shook my head. "Want to tell me what that was about out there?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?" Edward needled from the corner.

Jasper turned and pegged Edward with a hard stare. "Because it's none of your fucking business."

"Are you going to have to leave?" I asked.

"No."

I wasn't sure if I was relieved or not at the answer.

A few minutes later a nurse came in and led us to Bella's room. She lay still on the too big bed, but at least she was no longer hooked up to the respirator, although she had a nasal cannula providing oxygen, and plenty of other things attached to her: IV, monitors, and a catheter. I don't know why, but a part of me had hoped that she would be awake, as if the change of scenery would affect her.

Edward and Jasper both started toward the chair at her bedside, stopped, eyed each other and started again. _For fuck's sake_. I wanted to grab them each by the scruff of the neck and shake the testosterone right out of them. I was about to go to the nurses' station to ask for a couple more chairs, when I heard a loud voice and then the door swung open.

I stared in shock at the person standing in the doorway, sure I was dreaming.

"Emmett?" Edward's voice cut through my shock. "What are you doing here?"

"What? H. . .how?" I stuttered.

In two big strides he crossed the room and had me in his arms. One of his large hands was splayed against the small of my back, and the other was cradling my head against him. His face was buried in my hair, and for the first time since Jasper's phone call, I felt safe. I felt like maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright. He pulled back a bit, his hands a warm, firm presence, grounding me.

He kissed me, soft and sweet, the taste of it filled with longing and need. "I couldn't stay away," he breathed into my mouth before kissing me again.

We broke apart a minute later, and you could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Then Edward was up and hugging Emmett, and telling him how glad he was to see him. Emmett smiled and then turned. His face registered surprise as he took in Jasper standing off to the side, near Bella's bed.

"Jasper? Jasper Whitlock?"

The first truly genuine smile I'd seen broke out on Jasper's face just before he extended his hand to Emmett. "Emmett McCarty. It's good to see you, man" he said as they shook.

"Fucking Jasper Whitlock," Emmett shook his head before pulling Jasper into a hug.

"Wait! You two know each other?" Edward asked.

Emmett laughed. "Yeah, we played football together in college."

"Well isn't that just fucking great," Edward huffed and walked out of the room.

"Whoa!" Emmett looked at me and Jasper. "Someone wanna tell me what's going on?"

"He's your boy," Jasper said to me and Emmett, then sat down in the chair next to Bella.

"C'mon, let me buy you a cup of coffee," I said as I pulled Emmett to the door. "You'll stay with her?" I asked Jasper over my shoulder.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"No, I guess not," I replied, shaking my head.

"Oh shit," Emmett whispered looking at Jasper, then at me, comprehension dawning on him. "No, no, no. Please tell me I'm wrong."

"Coffee, Emmett. Then I'll tell you all about it. And you're going to tell me all about how you managed to get into a U.S. military hospital in Germany."

"Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out."

I didn't like the sound of that. Not. At. All.


	16. Chapter 16

_One of these days the sky's gonna break_  
And everything will escape, and I'll know  
One of these days the mountains are gonna fall  
Into the sea, and they'll know

 _That you and I were made for this_  
I was made to taste your kiss  
We were made to never fall away  
Never fall away.

"Letters From The Sky" – Civil Twilight

* * *

EPOV

I couldn't fucking believe it. How much smaller was my world going to get? Not only were Emmett and Rose falling for each other, but he knew Jasper? And they were friends? I felt besieged and alone, which wasn't fair to Emmett; he'd been there for me through the worst years of my life, the brother I never had. Still, selfish as it was, I wanted one person, just one person whose loyalties weren't divided, one person who was squarely and unequivocally in my corner.

I was outside, pacing back and forth. I couldn't stand the feel of my own skin. I couldn't stand the thoughts running through my head. Most of all though, I couldn't bear Bella's words bouncing around my skull.

_January 1999_

_It came today, my early acceptance to Yale. Just like Dartmouth. I know it's my family name. Sure I have the grades, but I don't have any other special talents. Edward is so gifted, why wasn't he accepted early? Because his last name isn't Swan._

_Well, I'm not going to say anything to him, because if he doesn't get in I'm not going. I'm going wherever Edward is. I can't . . . I can't be apart from him. Besides, who else will take care of him? I talked to Mom about it already, she didn't like it, but she promised she wouldn't say anything to him. He'd hate it and try to make me go. Maybe it would be his way of breaking up with me and I'm just being selfish because I want to be with him?_

_God that makes me an awful person, doesn't it?_

_But he loves me. He tells me he loves me and I have to trust that._

_I have to believe it._

_I can't imagine life otherwise._

_March 1999_

_We're going to Northwestern. Edward didn't get into Yale or Dartmouth, but we both got into Northwestern. It took some convincing, but Edward finally agreed to allow Mom and Dad to pay for it. They kept reminding him that he was family and that he was a son to them, until they finally wore him down._

_When Edward gave in, my breath came out in a woosh. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it, terrified that after everything he was going to go somewhere else, like a community college, or that he was going to insist on taking time off and working his way through college – both worthy endeavors, but both of which would have kept him away from me._

_Then Mom and Dad took us all out to celebrate. Rose is going to MIT. Alice and Tanya were accepted to NYU. We're all excited, and a little scared. For the first time since we were little we aren't all going to be together. At least I'll have Edward, and Alice and Tanya will have each other, but Rose will be alone. I know she can do it though. She's always been the toughest one of us._

_When we got back from dinner, Edward and I went upstairs to celebrate our way. After, as we lay there, the light from the fireplace giving the room a soft glow and Edward's arms were wrapped around me he whispered, "I don't know how I got so lucky."_

" _What do you mean?" I asked._

" _How did I get so lucky to meet you, to have you in my life? You. Charlie and Renee? Alice, Rose, Tanya . . ."_

" _Edward, it wasn't luck," I told him. "It was destiny."_

" _Destiny," he whispered back. "So, are you saying you were made for me Isabella Swan?"_

" _Of course I was," I told him._

_Then he kissed me. And we didn't talk anymore, letting our bodies prove just how well made we were for each other._

Destiny. A destiny I derailed by running away. Can destiny be restored? Like the errant time traveler, had I changed the course our lives irrevocably? Had I created such a paradox, that my existence in the new timeline was untenable? Or, is destiny as elastic as time? Could I nudge events enough so that despite the changes destiny realigned itself in my favor?

Again Bella's sacrifices tore at me. The depth of her love for me was the one thing I never doubted. It was my own self worth that had been the issue.

I'd thought her insecurities lessened during the course of our years in school. There'd been no more instances like the one with Gianna, and it showed in her writing. Her journal from that period of time was filled with happy memories, and recalled for me how Bella blossomed during those years. Her intelligence shined through in her class work and grades. Her compassion was shared with the children she worked with at the shelter. And through it all she still found the time to take care of me, always taking care of me—making sure I ate, bringing dinner to the studio if I was caught up in painting, making sure I checked my blood regularly.

If anything, it was _my_ insecurities that grew. I became jealous and although I tried not to be "that guy," occasionally my possessiveness would rear its ugly head. I began to dread some of the parties we went to, knowing the way the guys there would be eyeing Bella, like a piece of meat. I tried not to leave her side, but it was inevitable if one of us needed the restroom, or if Bella sent me to get her a drink.

The worst were the nights she went out with her girlfriends. It wasn't often, and I couldn't begrudge her those friends, particularly with Alice, Rose and Tanya away, but I spent those nights in a state of anxiety, and I was all over her the minute she returned, desperate to claim what was mine once more.

Her journal reflected all of this, although with a self-deprecating spin. She never thought she did enough, although she was proud of her grades. She thought my possessiveness was endearing, protective, and loving, even my temper, the angry monster that emerged when she was threatened in any way, was proof to her of my love. I suppose it was, but it was still an ugly side of me, one that sometimes lost control and could take things too far.

I found a bench outside the hospital and sat down, staring at my hands and wishing that they could do something, create something, anything, to bring her back, wake her up. The work of my hands was worth thousands and thousands of dollars, but at that moment in time they felt useless, meaningless.

I was pulled from my thoughts by my best friend's voice. "Hey," he said quietly as he sat next to me.

"Hey." I kept looking at my hands.

"Stop it," Emmet ordered.

"Stop what?" I asked.

"Stop kicking yourself for the shit you can't control."

I shook my head, a rueful smile on my face. Emmett could always read me. People thought because of his size or because he used to play football, that he was just a dumb jock. They couldn't have been more wrong. He was the smartest person, aside from Rose, that I'd ever met. But more than that, he had an innate gift for understanding people. He was insightful and kind, but tough as a grizzly and twice as mean when it came to those he cared about.

"So, you and Rose?" I asked as I looked at him.

A huge grin broke out on his face. "Hook, line and sinker, man. She's the most incredible woman I've ever met, and for some reason she likes me."

I grinned back at him, my earlier fears disappearing in the face of my friend's happiness. Was it too fast? Some may have thought so, but as one who'd been on the receiving end of Destiny's bounty, I wasn't going to begrudge them. "I'm happy for you both."

"Thanks man," he paused for a beat. "Rose filled me in on what's going on. For the record Edward, I just want you to know that no matter what, I've got your back. You know that, right?"

"I know man. You've had my back for the last six years, ever since that night . . ." I trailed off.

"Anyone would have—"

"No Em. Not anyone. Almost no one would have. Most people these days don't want to get involved. Hell, just last year people on the street walked around a gunshot victim as if he wasn't there, just watching him bleed out. They didn't even call 911. No Em, it's safe to say that most people wouldn't jump into that situation like you did, especially for a total stranger."

"Yeah, well," he said awkwardly, embarrassed as always when I brought it up, rubbing his side at the memory of what it cost him. "It was worth it man," he said softly, bumping his shoulder against mine.

"Yeah, you wouldn't have met Rose if not for me," I teased.

He laughed. "And don't forget all the money you've made me," he retorted as he put me in a loose head lock and gave me a noogie.

"Asshole," I grunted as he let me go.

There was another moment of silence before I spoke up. "So, Jasper?"

He took a breath. "Like I said, we played ball together at UCLA. Jasper is a couple of years younger than me. He was a great guy Edward. He really was. Had a sweet girl too, but I can't remember her name now. Mary maybe? Anyway, after I graduated we kept in touch for a while, but after he graduated he went into the Army—he'd been ROTC throughout college—and he disappeared after that. No one heard from Jasper, and well we were young so I figured he just moved on in life, you know? Today was the first time I've laid eyes on him in about ten years."

"What aren't you telling me, Em?"

He wasn't the only one who could read people. As an artist and photographer I learned to read my subjects, to see the subtle changes in their eyes.

"After I talked to Rose, I called Dad and asked him to find out what Jasper's been up to for the last ten years. Turns out Jasper went Special Forces in the Army and then he was recruited by the Company."

"The Company?"

"Shit man, don't you watch any movies? The CIA? He's out now, and Dad said that after that everything about Jasper is very hush hush, even with Dad's clearance – need to know and all that shit. There are rumors though."

"What kind of rumors?"

"He's into some risky shit, works for dangerous people. But I guess that's no surprise given what Bella's been up to, is it? Dad said to be careful."

Nothing Em told me was a surprise; it just filled in a few of the details.

"So, did you tell Rose about your dad?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah. She freaked for a few minutes, then told me she'd try not to deck him when I introduced them."

"Sounds like her."

"Then she said maybe she could get him to change his mind now that she had an _in_."

I laughed. "You know she won't, right?"

"I know."

Rose would never use a relationship to further her goals.

Emmett stood up. "You coming back in?"

"Yeah. I've gotta eat something and get a little sleep before I wind up in a bed next to Bella. I just want to check on her first."

We walked back in. Rose was alone with Bella .

"Where's Jasper?" Emmett asked.

"They're checking his stitches. He was bleeding again."

I went and sat by Bella.

"We'll give you a few bro," Emmett said as he grabbed Rose's hand and dragged her from the room.

I brushed my fingertips across Bella's check, then held her hand. I watched her for a little while, until my stomach growled, then lifted her hand to my mouth and ghosted a kiss across the back.

"I have to go eat, love." She'd be angry if I didn't. "Please come back to us. Please," I pleaded. I gave her one last kiss and left the room, sending Rose and Em back in.

After I ate and took my insulin, I found my way back to the family waiting room and passed out on the couch for a few hours. When I woke I cleaned myself up a bit then made my way back to Bella's room. The doctor had just finished up some tests and told us that her most recent CAT scan looked good. The swelling had gone down significantly. She wasn't out of the woods, but it was a step in the right direction.

I have no doubt the look of relief and joy that I saw on Rose, Emmett, and Jasper's faces was reflected on mine.

"I have to call Alice and Tanya," Rose said and left the room, Em trailing after like he was afraid to let her out of his sight.

I eyed Jasper, the silence in the room uneasy now that Rose and Emmett left the room. I watched the way he moved, and realized that smooth, relaxed posture I'd observed in him was actually the fluid grace of a killer. Emmett's words helping put into place pieces of the puzzle that was Jasper Whitlock. His eyes had the far seeing gaze of someone who expected anything, and the deeper strains of someone who had seen too much.

"I think you're dangerous for her to be around," I said suddenly.

Without looking away from her he said, "I'm sure you do. And maybe I am." He looked up at me then. "But Edward, _I've_ never hurt her. In fact, _Edward_ , if you hadn't come back when and how you did? She wouldn't have been in Afghanistan; she wasn't due back yet. So, you tell me, who's the real danger to her here?"

"Shut up!"

"Of course, I could thank you. I may not have seen her for a few more months, and instead," he paused, took a deep breath and closed his eyes, like he was remembering something. "Mmm, yeah, thanks for that."

 _Motherfucker_.

I felt my hands clenching and unclenching as I tried to stem the tide of my anger. It was my turn to close my eyes and take a breath, as I sought to calm myself, instead I saw images of Bella . . . Bella and Jasper . . . Bella and Carlisle.

 _Not working_.

My eyes flew open and all I saw was red. The same red I saw when James and Laurent grabbed Bella. The same red I saw when some guy at a party cornered her once, and before I could even think, I'd taken two steps forward and swung at Jasper's face.

The next thing I knew, I was face first against the wall, with my arm painfully torqued up behind me, and I was barely keeping balance on the tips of my toes.

"What the fuck Whitlock?" Emmett's voice boomed.

"Stay out of this McCarty," Jasper threatened. "Your boy here swung first." He pushed against my arm a bit more. I grunted in pain and went even higher on my toes, trying to alleviate the pressure on my arm.

My barely healed nose was pressed against the cold, industrial gray walls of the hospital room, pain lancing through it again, and Jasper's elbow was digging into my back, and I couldn't do a fucking thing about any of it. But worse than the pain were the memories that the helplessness brought back, the fear and self-pity. I was tempted to sacrifice my arm in order to get away, to just drop and let him snap it in three places.

My eyes squeezed shut as I felt his breath against my neck. Jasper's voice was a whisper in my ear, so quiet but all the more threatening for it. "It isn't in my nature not to finish this off, but I did provoke you and for that I apologize. You should also know that it isn't in my nature to walk away from something I want."

And then he was gone and back across the room as if nothing had happened. I blinked several times before turning around. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Rose had a hand up against her mouth and her head was shaking side to side. Emmett was in Jasper's face, yelling at him, but all I could hear was "wa wa wa wa wa," like the adults in the old Peanut's cartoons. I shook my head, trying to clear it, not wanting to look like complete pussy in front of everyone.

Then everything sped up.

Rose was giving us both a blistering lecture. "I swear to God if this bullshit doesn't stop right now, I'm throwing both of you out of here. Bella does not need this and you two need to stop pissing on her like a couple of dogs marking their territory. Do you understand me?"

I nodded. Jasper just stared at her. She turned to me. "What the hell were you thinking trying to hit him?" But before I could answer she turned back to Jasper. "And _you_! I don't know what you said to provoke him, but this is not a playground where you get to taunt each other like children. Am I clear?" she asked, looking back and forth between us.

This time Jasper nodded too.

"Good. Now, all of you get out for a little while." At the start of our protests, she continued, "I need a little break from this display of testosterone, so all of you, yes you too Emmett, out!"

Rose didn't need to tell me twice. I needed to get out of there. Away from Jasper, away from what he dredged up. I was running by the time I hit the doors out of the hospital, and it was a minute before I heard Emmett behind me, "Edward, stop! Shit, Edward! Stop!"

But I didn't stop, not until I got to a dead end, face-to-face with a wire fence and buildings on either side of me. After a moment Emmett came up next to me, panting. "Edward," he gasped, then held up one finger and bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. "Jesus, man. I forgot how fucking fast you are." Another few panted breaths, then, "Are you okay?"

I leaned my forehead against the chain link and tried to relax the white-knuckle grip I had on the thin wires.

"Edward? What the fuck happened in there?"

"I fucking froze, that's what happened. It was just like that night, Em. I was fucking useless and scared," I snorted. "And just like then, you came to my rescue." I shook my head.

"Edward," Emmett said softly. "It's okay to be scared."

"You'd think I'd be over it by now."

"I don't think you get over something like that. I haven't. You just learn to live with it."

"Easy for you to say. You weren't the one being held down and—"

"Fuck you, Edward. I was the one that wound up gutted. So don't talk to me about easy!" Emmett snapped.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Em," I said.

"Ah fuck it man. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I'm really sorry. You saved my life that night and nearly died doing it. I'm an asshole," I apologized as put my hand on his shoulder.

"Is this where we hug it out?" he asked, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

I rolled my eyes and started to pull away, but he grabbed me into a hug and cried dramatically, "Hold me, Eddie!"

I punched him in the shoulder and wrenched free. "You are such a pain in the ass."

He laughed. "I know. It's a gift." Then he got serious. "What happened in there, Edward? Why'd you swing at him?"

I ran a hand through my hair. "Fuck," I muttered. "I told him that he was too dangerous for Bella to be around, and he pointed out that the only reason she was in Afghanistan was because I drove her there."

"You know that's not true, right Edward?"

"That's the fucked up part, Em. He's right. _I'm_ who she was running from."

"Edward, Bella has been doing this kind of shit for a few years now. Your exhibit? It was just an excuse for something she was going to do anyway."

"Em, let's just agree to disagree on this one, okay?"

He shook his head. "Fine, but that's not why you swung at him. That would have made you hit yourself, not him."

I smiled. He was right of course. "No, that's not why I tried to hit him. He may have also hinted that Afghanistan isn't the only place I drove her to."

When Emmett's face stayed blank, I spelled it out for him. "Into his arms? His bed?"

"Awww fuck," Emmett said.

"Precisely."

"I'm sorry, Edward. I really don't know what to say. I mean, you know what Carlisle told us, right? He said he knew there were others."

"I know," I said as I scrubbed a hand over my face. "It's just . . . it's one thing to know, in my head, that there were men in her life during the last seven years. I mean, you know I've been no Boy Scout, but to actually be confronted with two of them in a week? And, not just some losers she took home from a bar, Em. These men: my uncle? Jasper? They do these amazing things. They make a difference in the world. How do I compete with that?"

"Shit, Edward, you don't compete."

"Thanks Em."

"No. What I mean is, you just be you, Edward. You've told me about you and Bella, about that connection you've shared since you were kids. How do they compete with that? Did you stop to ask yourself why Bella hasn't settled down in the last seven years?"

"Well, according to Rose and Alice it's because I 'broke her.' What if she can't be happy? What if I ruined that for her?"

"And what if it's because you're the only one that can make her happy?"

I scoffed.

"Listen Edward, I don't know Bella, and I don't know if this is something you can fix or not. But I do know you, and you're talented and caring and just an all around great guy, ya know? So just be you. Be the man she fell in love with. Don't try to be someone else, okay?"

I looked at my best friend. "When did _you_ become fucking Oprah?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "When you decided to go all emo on me. C'mon, let's get back to the hospital. I think Rose might let us back in now." Then he stopped and said, "Dude, she's scary when she's pissed. It's kinda hot."

I snorted. "You are so fucked up, you know that?"

He threw his arm around my shoulder. "Yup. It's why you love me, Eddie."

I pushed him off. "Don't call me Eddie!"

As we walked back I saw Colonel Grant and I nudged Emmett in his side. "That guy doesn't like Jasper either," I said.

"Who?"

I pointed. "That guy. Colonel Grant. He pitched a fit when he saw Jasper. Threatened to throw him off the base."

"Oh shit!" Emmett exclaimed.

"What?"

"Grant. You said Grant? That was her name."

"Whose name?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

"The girl Jasper was with back in school. Grant. Maria Grant. You don't think?"

"Oh yeah, I think," I said. "You should have seen the anger. Whatever it's about, it was personal."

Thankfully, the colonel was walking in the opposite direction of the hospital. I didn't think any of us was up for another confrontation.


	17. Chapter 17

_I was a teenage anarchist, but the politics were too convenient._  
In the depths of their humanity all I saw was bloodless ideology.  
And with freedom as the doctrine, guess who was the new authority?  
I was a teenage anarchist, but the politics were too convenient.

_Do you remember when you were young and you wanted to set the world on fire?_

Against Me! - "I Was A Teenage Anarchist"

* * *

JPOV

I left the room and stalked the hallways, trying to walk off some of the residual anger and aggression I felt. I didn't go outside, because if I ran into either Edward or Colonel Grant, I was going to snap, and I don't allow myself to snap. What I wanted to do was find the fitness and training center and work a punching bag, but with my shoulder I knew that was out of the question. I didn't need to rip the stitches again.

I knew Rosalie and Emmett thought I'd snapped back in Bella's room, but Edward . . . no, Edward knew that I hadn't. He swung, I reacted. The only reason he wasn't carted out of there on a stretcher of his own was because I had to admit I'd goaded him, letting him know about me and Bella. Honestly, I didn't think he had it in him.

I usually read people well, and Edward did not read as the violent type. He came from a broken home, sure, but from everything I'd gathered about him, he was a gentle, artistic soul, who was so much in his own head that he bordered on savant status. I couldn't help but wonder if he didn't have some form of autism, but what the fuck did I know?

All I did know was that genius talent or not, he was stupid enough to leave Bella. Stupid and selfish and cruel, and watching him moon over her and profess his love and to know, just know that at least some part of her still loved him killed me. And I knew she still loved him, because you didn't get so damaged, and stay so damaged, if you didn't love someone. Only love held that kind of power over you; the power to lift you up higher than any human has a right to be, and to crush you back down until you are nothing but dust.

When you don't love someone, they can't hurt you. And I tried not to be that man. I tried so fucking hard not to be that man again, because God knows I'd been crushed once already and yet, there I was again, apparently stupid with it.

Stupid enough to turn down Aro, a situation which was turning out to be much more complicated than it seemed.

Stupid enough to let Jake back into my life, because sure as I stood there, I knew he wasn't done with me.

Stupid enough to entangle myself in a pissing contest with Edward.

Stupid enough to put myself within a hundred miles of Colonel Javier Grant, when his eyes were last ones on this planet I ever wanted to see again.

Because they were her eyes.

My Maria. She had his eyes; only on her they were large and wide. The hazel of them a crazy kaleidoscope of greens, browns and golds, with occasional storms of gray. It was her eyes that drew me to her when she first came to our school, the new girl, the military brat.

We knew she was coming. In a small town like ours, in a small school like ours, word got around. Abilene, Texas has a population of one-hundred twenty thousand, and in the early nineties it was even smaller. The biggest employer in town is nearby Dyess Air Force Base, and many of the teachers at our high school, Cooper High, were often retired officers and their spouses. So, when we heard that the new head of the base, Colonel Javier Grant's daughter was going to be a student, well, let's just say we didn't expect Maria.

Most of us were clean cut kids, a little on the preppy side even, especially the military kids. Sure, there were a couple of long haired Metallica metal fans, and smattering of kids that were discovering grunge and wore torn jeans and flannels. But most of us were a bit more Gap, with a good dose of jock, and cowboy or girl, as it were. It was Texas after all.

As the door to class opened, you could hear a pin drop; everyone was holding their breath in anticipation. What would the new girl look like? Was she cute? Was she a geek? Was she single?

Let it never be said Maria Grant didn't know how to make an entrance.

Sporting a short, swing cut bob that was dyed black, along with black eyeliner and fingernails to match, Maria Grant was the first Goth to cross the hallowed halls of Cooper High. Her lips were slicked blood red, and a small hoop pierced her nose. Her tight t-shirt with _Bauhaus_ emblazoned across the center was just small enough to reveal another hoop in her navel, before the rest of her beautiful, flat stomach was covered by a tight black skirt. Black and white striped tights and knee high Doc Martins completed the picture.

I never did figure out who was more stunned, our English teacher, Mr. Reynolds, or the rest of the student body. She looked around the room, disdain making a quick dash across her face before she schooled herself. As she took in the room, her eyes fell on me and I couldn't look away. Beneath the hardened exterior, I caught a moment of anxiety. She was as nervous as any other new kid; she just hid it a hell of a lot better. As I continued to stare at her, a tiny smirk tugged at her mouth.

"Just grab any open seat Ms. Grant," Mr. Reynolds finally got out.

She hitched her bag up on her shoulder and walked right toward me, and I could hear her mutter, "Open seat, as if I'd sit on someone's lap." She parked it in the empty seat to my right.

I don't know what came over me but I said, "I don't think some of us would mind that."

She looked at me, eyes narrowed, "Of course you wouldn't."

I grinned even wider. "Neither would you," I whispered, then turned my attentions back to Mr. Reynolds.

Maria wound up being an exceptional student, and far ahead of many of us. She had attended a rather exclusive boarding school for several years, courtesy of her maternal grandparents' trust fund, but after her mother's death, her father decided he wanted her closer and brought her with him to his new post.

Maria hadn't been happy about that fact.

We had three classes together, and sat next to each other in two of them. I spent the next two months trying to get to know her, trying to get her to go out with me, or hell, just sit at the same table at lunch.

And she spent those two months being a complete and utter bitch to me.

One day, in Mr. Reynolds' class, we were playing a little game. "I want you all to give me examples of an oxymoron," he instructed. It was a free for all.

"Military intelligence," someone piped up. Everyone snickered.

"Pretty ugly," someone else threw out.

"Adult male," Maria said.

I looked at her and . . . got pissed. "Passive aggressive," I said keeping my eyes on her.

"Genuine imitation," she spat back.

"Natural makeup."

"Living dead."

"Clearly misunderstood."

"Butt head."

"Al—"

"ENOUGH!" Mr. Reynolds shouted.

Both of our mouths snapped shut, and as we turned to look, the entire class was staring at us, slack jawed. Before Mr. Reynolds could lay into us, however, the bell rang.

"Saved by the bell, Mr. Whitlock, Ms. Grant," he said.

Maria was up and out of her seat in heartbeat, and I was close on her heels. She was about two feet ahead of me when I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I hissed at her.

"You mean other than being dragged into a room against my will?" she snarled at me.

"You are such a bitch!" I spat, slamming my hand into the wall next to her head, bringing my face right up into hers.

"And you're an asshole!"

I stared at her for a minute, at those stormy eyes, clouded grayish green and shooting daggers at me. Her skin was flushed and she was breathing hard.

Then my lips were on hers, and instead of pushing me away her hand was in my hair, pulling and tugging, and her mouth was opening to mine, her tongue finding its way into my mouth. My free hand slid down around her waist and pulled her closer, and we kissed until we had to break away to breathe.

I leaned my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, my grip around her waist still tight, pressing her against my body, enjoying the feel of her. I opened my eyes and the hand that was leaning on the wall made its way to her face, cupping the side, the thumb tracing her cheeks, her nose, her lips.

"Jesus, Whitlock you—"

"Shut up, Grant," I whispered as I kissed her again.

We kissed in that classroom until a janitor walked in and interrupted us, yelling at us in Spanish and threatening to report us to the principal. We ran out of the room, hand in hand and laughing.

I shook my head clear of the memories. I didn't want to dwell on Maria, on what I'd lost. Instead I headed to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and pondered the connection between Bella and Aro. It didn't take a genius to figure out. I'd often wondered who her supplier was, and how she cut through governmental red tape in some of the countries we'd been to. It was the one thing she'd asked me not to look into, and I respected her wishes. But as I contemplated Aro's phone call, I knew.

Aro Volturi, also known as the Spider, was one of the biggest arms dealers in the world. He dabbled a bit in the drug trade as well, but his bread and butter was in the purchase and sale of weapons. His brothers were Mafiosi, well one brother was. The other had been killed years before in a war between families. When their father died they mutually agreed to split some of the businesses. Caius kept the local business: gambling, drugs, and prostitution. Aro took the control of the international dealings; drugs and, at the time, some minor arms trading. He turned that into a veritable empire of its own.

So it was a no brainer that Bella was getting her black market medical supplies from him, and using his bought-and-paid-for contacts in various governments to get shipments through. What I didn't get was why. Why Aro? How did they meet in the first place? And why was Aro so concerned about her welfare? He normally didn't care what happened to his buyers. So why was he invested in what happened to Bella? Aro didn't do anything without reason, so his asking me about her clearly meant she was important. But the how and why of it eluded me.

I pulled at the cold dregs of my second cup of coffee, when I saw Emmett walking up to the table.

"Hey man," he said as he sat across from me.

I looked up at him, but said nothing. I had no idea where we stood, and it was clear that his connection to Edward was much tighter than to me.

"Listen, I'm not here to bust your balls," he began. "I just . . . shit." He rubbed his hand over his face. "We're friends Jasper, or we were, and I'd still like to be, but I need to know what's doing here. Where did you disappear to? What have you been doing? What—"

That had always been one of the great things about Emmett, he cut through the bullshit. He didn't blow smoke up your ass, and he didn't sugar coat it. At the very least, I could reciprocate.

"I know you already know where I disappeared to after graduation, Emmett. I'm sure you've spoken to your father by now."

He shrugged, unabashed. "I still want to hear it from you, what you can tell me."

I looked at him. He was the same Emmett I knew back in school. Sure, there were a few lines on his face, maybe a few more pounds than he'd sported back then, but his eyes were the same, a little wiser perhaps, but the same.

"After graduation I went into the Army, Special Forces, and before you ask, you already know I can't tell you about that."

He grinned. "You could tell me but then you'd have to kill me?"

I laughed. "Yeah, something like that. Anyway, after a couple of years I was approached by Langley, my skills were of particular use to them, and I was good at what I did."

"What about Maria? And, for the record, I know about Colonel Grant."

I could feel the cold mask I often wore slide over my face at the mention of her name, but I forced myself to answer him. He knew her from before. He deserved to know what happened.

"Maria and I got married three years after graduation. She was a big part of the reason I took Langley's offer. I would still be traveling, but I'd be based at home. No more year long deployments or foreign bases. Occasionally I'd have a long term assignment, but other than a couple of those, I was rarely gone for more than a few weeks. It was still a complicated life, but at least it allowed us to pretend it was a normal one, which was even more important when Peter came along."

"Dude, you're a dad?"

My voice was cold and hard, even to my own ears. "Three years after Peter was born, Maria and Peter were killed."

"Shit Jasper, I'm so sorry. What was it? A car accident?"

A mirthless chuckle escaped me. "Only if you consider a bar of C-4 taped to the engine block of the car with a detonator wired into the ignition an accident."

"Jasper man, I . . . Damn, I don't even know what to say. Was it . . . was it meant for you?" he asked. That was the million dollar question, and the one that was the most painful because there wasn't a good answer.

"No. I never drove the Volvo."

And the irony that I'd picked that car for its safety record never failed to cut me.

"That means . . ." he trailed off.

"Yeah," I answered. "It means they were the targets."

And that's why his question was so painful, because the answer didn't really matter. If I had been the intended target, then their "accidental" deaths would have meant my job incidentally spilled over into my real world, that Maria and Peter had simply been collateral damage, to use a popular euphemism. But the fact that they were the intended targets simply meant that my job more than just incidentally infected my real life, and they were never just collateral damage. Yet either way, Maria and Peter were dead. Either way it was _my_ life choices, _my_ job, _my_ mistakes that brought the war into our driveway that day.

"But how? Why?" Emmett sputtered and I could see tears in his eyes. Tears he was prepared to shed for a woman he hadn't seen in a decade and child he never knew, to shed on behalf of an old friend he probably should no longer know.

Tears I was grateful for, because mine no longer came.

"It was a warning. We were getting close to our target and I was compromised. Of course, it didn't all fall out that way in the investigation." I rubbed the back of my neck as I thought about how it _had_ fallen out, about how things had been sanitized and blame apportioned.

"You mean they blamed you?"

"No," I shook my head. "No, although Grant does. No, they didn't blame me, but they didn't buy my opinion about who to blame either. I didn't have the concrete evidence, but Emmett, I know what my gut told me, and I know what I saw, and I _know_ I was right. But, it was all whitewashed and cleaned and wrapped up in a neat little bow for the bureaucracy to file away and stamp 'CLOSED' on the file."

"Jesus fuck, Jasper. I'm so sorry."

I shrugged. "That's when I left the CIA."

Emmett just nodded, as if he understood. But how could he? I grew up in a patriotic household, in a town that owed its continuing existence to the military. I believed in our country, and when I decided to serve, it was with the fervor of a true believer. Even the things I'd seen, the things I'd done in the name of country never swayed my belief. It was all for the greater good and I believed that those in charge knew what they were doing, that they had a plan, that they cared about us, about me.

Maria and Peter's deaths and the subsequent cover up disabused me of that belief, and of all the horrors I'd witnessed, all the blood spilled, lives lost and secrets told _that_ was what finally stole my innocence, my idealism.

After losing Peter and Maria, it's what finally broke me. So I was pretty fucking sure Emmett McCarty didn't have the first clue.

But I did appreciate the sentiment.

"So how did you and Bella meet?"

"Are you asking because you care, or because you're fishing for information for your boy?"

Emmett took a breath, then said, "Jasper, I do care. Edward and I are tight, like brothers. I'm not gonna lie to you. But . . . oh hell, Jasper, this situation is seriously messed up. I just . . . I just want some answers."

I looked at the man I once called friend, at the earnest look in his eyes, and the open honesty on his face. "Sure, but let's get out of here and get a drink somewhere."

Emmett grinned. "Now you're talkin!"

We stopped in the room to let Rosalie know we were going out for a bit. I was relieved to see that Edward was not there. When my eyes flicked over to the bedside chair, Rosalie said, "I sent him back to the room to sleep for a little while."

Fisher House was the on-site accommodation donated by Fisher House Foundation that ensures there is lodging at every major military medical center for families in need. Obviously we were not in need, but I think the Swan Trust's sizable donation to the program got us all a room there. It's not like we were going to be living in it. We just needed a place to shower and rotate taking naps.

I waited by Bella while Rosalie and Emmett said their goodbyes, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. I overheard Rosalie say, "I'm glad you two are talking. I think . . ." her voiced lowered to a whisper, but I could still hear her, "I think he needs it."

Emmett kissed her and then the two of us headed out. Thanks to Emmett's father, we had a car and driver waiting for us. I shook my head as we got into the Jeep.

"What?" he asked. "Nothing like a little nepotism."

During the drive to 21, a cocktail bar atop the city council building, Emmett waxed nostalgic about our college and playing football. It was nice to spend a little time reminiscing about those days, about a time before my world became so cold and hard, before death and bloodshed became a way of life, before the core of my existence was shaken so thoroughly. Through Emmett's eyes, I could almost see my old self—smiling and laughing, roughhousing and playing practical jokes, making love to Maria with my entire being, my entire soul.

The car stopped and we took the elevator to the top floor of the building. We were seated at a table by a window and a waitress took our order. We didn't talk until the drinks arrived. Each of us belted our shot of Patron, then settled in to talk over our beers.

"So?" Emmett prompted.

I snorted into my stein. "What? No foreplay?"

"Fuck you Whitlock."

"Fine, but I don't bottom," I threw back. It was like being back in college.

"Seriously, man. You and Bella. What's going on?"

"So no more 'good old times' talk? Fine, what do you want to know?"

Emmett took a sip of his beer. "How did you meet?"

"I was making a delivery to one of the MSF doctors in Darfur. She was there."

When Emmett raised his brow and then waved his hand in the universal gesture for "continue," I did. "I met her at a poker game."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah man. I got in late, made the delivery and the doc told me they were all playing that night, so he made the introductions and I was dealt in." I took a sip of my beer. "She cleaned us out."

Emmett laugh. "Seriously? No one ever beat you!"

"I know, right? But she did. I'm not gonna lie. I thought she was gorgeous, and would have made a move, but she was seeing one of the docs there. Nice guy too, so I left well enough alone."

At my words Emmett's eyes darkened.

"What?" I asked him.

"Finish and then I'll tell you," he answered.

I canted my head to the side and looked at him, but I knew that look on his face. It meant that he wasn't going to change his mind, so I continued. "Anyway, I was in and out of that camp on . . . business for a few months, and every time I saw her I thought she was a hot piece."

I saw Emmett bristle.

"Hey man, I'm telling you how it was, okay? Back off."

He visibly relaxed, and I continued.

"Anyway, one day I was there making a delivery, a favor for someone—"

"Who?"

I quirked my eyebrows at him. "You really don't want to know, okay?"

When he nodded, I continued. "So I was in the office when Bella walked in. She was on her sat phone and she was cursing a blue streak at someone on the other end, in English, French, hell she threw in some in Arabic too." I took another sip of my beer and signaled the waitress to bring another round. "Anyway, a shipment of supplies she was bringing in got stuck. The driver was afraid to come to where the camp was. I don't know why I did it, but I volunteered to help her out. Next thing I know, I'm driving to Khartoum to pick up a shipment of medical supplies, with Bella in the passenger seat."

The waitress brought our drinks and before we did our shots Emmett said, "Here's to you and here's to me, best friends we will always be, and if we ever disagree, fuck you and here's to me!"

I laughed before downing the drink, enjoying the burn as it moved down my esophagus and into my stomach. "We talked a lot on that drive, Bella and I. Oh, and just so you know, she introduced herself to me as Marie. Our darling Bella has a separate persona for her overseas work."

"That I did know."

I wasn't too surprised that he knew. "Anyway, at first it was just business with us. On that drive to and back from Khartoum we realized we had certain common interests."

Emmett opened his mouth to ask a question, but I stopped him. "You really don't want to know the details right now, Em. Trust me." I took a long draught of my beer, and this time it was Emmett who signaled the waitress. Yeah, we were gonna be shitfaced by the time all was said and done.

"So, we wound up working together. Our interests," I paused looking for the right word, "aligned, let's say, and we partnered up."

Emmett downed the last of his beer. "So, how did you wind up sleeping with her?"

I winced at the casual way in which he spoke of it. Sure, that's how it began with us; a casual affair, nothing more than sex, but I now knew it was so much more than that. "One night we were making a delivery of . . . well, we were making a delivery, and shit got a little hairy. We had to hide in this hole in the wall, literally."

Emmett's brows drew down, frowning, like he was remembering something.

"What?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I'll tell you, just finish first, okay?"

I nodded and kept going. "Anyway, it was totally fucked up man. We were hiding, squeezed into this hole . . ." I took another drink. "Well, one thing led to another . . ." I trailed off figuring he didn't need a blow by blow.

"Jesus," he said. "Fucking adrenalin junkie," I heard him whisper.

"What?"

He rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't know if I should tell you this man, but . . .fuck, we were always honest with each other." He took another drink. "Okay. Let me start at the beginning . . . at least the beginning of what I know, okay?"

When I nodded, he continued. "I think . . . I think that doctor Bella was with when you met her was Carlisle Cullen. Am I right?"

I felt like I'd been punched, but nodded anyway.

"You're not going to believe this . . ."

And he proceeded to tell me about Bella. About Carlisle and Bella. About Edward and Carlisle. Jesus-Fucking-Christ what a clusterfuck.

"You love her, don't you?" he asked.

I nodded, afraid to voice it.

"Shit," he said.

I chuckled. "Yup. Shit. This entire situation is so fucked up, Em." I slammed back another shot. "So, how do you know Edward?" I asked.

"Fuck," he muttered and drained his shot glass. "It's not really my story man," but at the look on my face he conceded. "This stays between us, and there are some things I'm just not going to tell you, so deal with that right now."

I nodded.

"I was leaving a bar seven years ago, when I heard what sounded like a fight . . ."

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

_You know my darling I can't stand to sleep alone._

_No sweetheart in the dark to call my own._

_You're my own, you're my own, I can sing it, I can grow._

_But the darkness is a stranger in our lonely, lonely, lone._

_Last night's parties and last night's horror show,_

_Smiling and welling and kissing all I know._

_Give my soul, give my soul, sing it free across the sea._

_Lonely spell to conjure you but conjure hell is all I do._

_Lonely, lonely, lonely, 'cause my mother told me,_

_The dream of love is a two hearted dream._

_Lonely, lonely, lonely, 'cause my mother told me_

_The dream of love is a two hearted dream_

_They say for every heart high there must be a low, low, low, low._

_And with every sun ascending a lonesome moon will grow, grow, grow, grow._

_Drive my heart, drive my heart, into the fire of a burning heart's desire._

_The only spells you'll be seeing, do you hear me coming in my blue dream_

_Lonely, lonely, lonely, 'cause my mother told me,_

_The dream of love is a two hearted dream._

_Lonely, lonely, lonely,_

_The dream of love is a two hearted dream._

Bat For Lashes – "Sleep Alone"

* * *

EPOV

Emmett left me to go talk to Jasper, and after spending some time with Bella, I left to get some sleep. Landing in a bed next to her wasn't going to earn me any points, and I'd learned my lesson about that back when Charlie and Renee died.

After I woke up, ate and showered, I took care of some email, including sending Carlisle an update. Despite the conversation we'd had and everything he'd done to get me to Afghanistan, I couldn't bring myself to call him. Everything was still too raw, too painful, for both of us. I also sent Alice an email. I knew Rose was keeping her updated on Bella's condition, but Alice was the first one to accept me back into the fold, so to speak, and I was desperate to maintain that connection, and not just because I wanted to win Bella back, but because of what all four of them had always meant to me.

When I finished, I poured myself another cup of coffee and fiddled a bit with the pictures I'd taken in Afghanistan. I pulled out my sketchbook and looked at the drawings of Bella I'd made in the hospital, until finally I couldn't lie to myself anymore—I was stalling.

I was avoiding reading her journal. I was procrastinating and ignoring and generally being a coward because I was growing closer to that pivotal moment that changed all of our lives, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.

January 1, 2002: the day of Charlie and Renee's accident.

They'd been driving home from a New Year's Eve party. Despite having drivers, the Swans had always given their staff Christmas Day and New Year's Eve off. So instead of being ensconced in the comfort and safety of a large limousine, they were cruising along in the recently restored 1960 Porsche 356 Speedster that Charlie had acquired.

When the drunk kid in his parents' Chevy Suburban plowed through the stop sign and into the passenger side of the car, Renee was killed instantly. Charlie was thrown from the driver's side through the window, landing on the front lawn of a nearby house, his spine severed at C3, ensuring that if he ever did wake up, he would be paralyzed and on a ventilator for the rest of his life.

The police came to the house to inform us, inform Bella. The girls were all home on break, and we had decided to stay in, reconnect and enjoy each other and a few close friends. We stumbled to the door, bleary eyed, roused from our beds in various states of sobriety and undress; the cold wind and lake effect snow caused us all to shiver.

Bella swayed on her feet the moment she saw the police. "Oh god, what happened?"

The next few hours passed in a blur of tears and activity and paperwork and doctors. We all sat huddled together in the hospital, waiting for them to tell us something about Charlie's condition and when they finally did, out of all of us, it was Bella that held it together.

It was Bella who demanded that we all be allowed to sit with him, despite hospital policy limiting it to two family members.

It was Bella who contacted Charlie and Renee's attorneys, and who made sure the doctors were aware that she was her father's medical proxy since her mother was no longer alive.

It was Bella who listened carefully to the doctors' prognosis, asking all the right questions and explaining things to the rest of us.

It was Bella who finally made the decision to disconnect Charlie from life support, knowing it was not his wish to remain alive solely by such artificial means.

And it was Bella who organized the funeral service for our parents, because even though they birthed only her, they'd shaped and formed each of us—our parents in all but name.

It was Bella whose strength and love got us all through those days.

_January 15, 2002_

_It's been two weeks and I still feel like I'm floating in a fog. I feel detached. A part of me is watching as I go through the motions: at the hospital, talking to the doctors and the lawyers. I see myself at the funeral home, and at the cemetery._

_The rest of me is still in disbelief._

_I buried my parents today._

_I buried my parents today._

_I buried my parents today._

_Maybe if I say it enough it will sink in, because even though I see all these events in my mind's eye, it just doesn't compute. My neurons are firing all these messages through my skull, but I still expect to hear the car in the driveway, to hear Mom laughing when Daddy kisses her and whispers naughty things in her ear, to smell her Chanel No. 5 wafting through the hallway, to hear Daddy cursing when he's watching football._

_And when I walk down the hall, I do smell Mom's lingering scent, and I follow it hoping to find her sitting at her vanity and brushing out her hair. And when I hear the crunch of gravel in the driveway, I run to the window hoping it's Daddy pulling up and not just the long expanse of black limousines coming to take us to the cemetery._

_I'm trying to stay strong, for Alice and Tanya, and Rose too, even though she likes to pretend she's tougher than she is. And I have to stay strong for Edward._

_But I'm not strong._

_I just want to curl up on the floor and cry and rail at the world and curse a god I'm not even sure exists, because my parents are gone. Because they aren't just gone, they were taken from me when I still needed them, taken before I could make them proud of me._

_They were always so proud of Tanya and Rose and Alice. My sisters overcame so much and became such beautiful, vibrant, and intelligent women. And I know I'm supposed to help them, and Edward, it's what Mom and Daddy wanted, but I don't know if I'm strong enough._

_But it's what I'm supposed to do. It's what I've always done._

_Mom and Daddy told me that the most important thing we could do was take care of the ones we loved. They said that being beautiful or rich was meaningless without that._

_When they brought Rose home from the hospital, Mom told me I had to help her. I had to help Rose feel loved. That no one ever loved her before, not really. It was my job as her sister to help her feel beautiful and special and loved. We all had to make sure she knew that she was still beautiful, inside and out, no matter what had been done to her._

_And I did._

_Rose was easy to love, to admire, to care for. She asked for so little in return. And she is so beautiful and smart, strong and loyal, that loving her comes naturally. I'm always in awe of her, of what she's risen above and accomplished, and I know that Mom and Daddy helped her so much, but I also know that in her shoes I would have withered away and died._

_And then Alice came, and despite the tragedy and trauma of her life, she brought happiness and light with her. Even Rose lit up when Alice entered a room, and when we were young very few people could put a smile on Rose's face. Alice didn't need to be healed in the same way as Rose did. Alice just needed somewhere to be nurtured, somewhere that her beautiful soul could grow and thrive. Instead of us trying to pull her into our familial orbit, Alice drew all of us to her._

_When we were little, I think I was in her thrall, willingly doing whatever she asked. But even then, Mom and Daddy always made sure to remind me how fragile she really was. How close to shattering she'd come. I wasn't as strong as Rose, but it was part of my job to protect Alice._

_And when Tanya arrived, she and Alice just clicked, and at first she would only talk to Alice, then through Alice. Where Alice was lightness, an ethereal presence, Tanya was hard and brittle. Alice soothed her, comforted her, made her softer, more malleable. But I knew it was my job to make her feel like as much of a sister as Rose and Alice._

_Then there was Edward. I didn't even need Mom and Daddy to tell me to take care of him. I knew I had to from the day I met him._

_But sometimes I just feel so damned selfish. Sometimes I wonder, who is supposed to take care of me? When am I going to spread my wings? When will it be my turn to soar?_

_And then I feel awful, because I always had Mom and Daddy, and I've always had a life of love and privilege. I don't know what it's like to be beaten or abused or raped or ignored. I don't know hardship or pain. How dare I wallow in such self-indulgence?_

_So I'm doing everything I can to hold them all together._

_And it still doesn't feel like enough._

I forced myself to stop reading. God, it was no wonder Bella lacked self esteem. She saw everything in terms of the needs of those around her. Her needs were always the last to be acknowledged and fulfilled.

And even though I could see the wisdom of Charlie and Renee's platitudes about good deeds and service versus the praise of beauty or success, the contrasting message of making sure Rose still felt beautiful, despite the abuse she suffered, would have been confusing for a young Bella, hell any young girl. No wonder she felt as if she was less beautiful than her sister. In her mind, the message probably translated to: you're not as pretty so we're going to encourage you to do good deeds, but Rose is beautiful, so we'll make sure she knows it.

Everything was always about Rose, Alice, Tanya, and me, and never about Bella. Even Charlie and Renee, god rest their souls, made her feel like she was less important somehow. And I know they never meant that. I know they were good parents, and they adored Bella. They probably thought they were empowering her by putting her foster siblings in her care, by making her part of "the team," but instead she twisted and internalized the message, making herself less in her own eyes.

It was a painful truth to read.

It was a painful truth to be a party to.

_January 17, 2002_

_I just spent the last twenty-four hours in the hospital with Edward. He hasn't been eating right since the accident, and I wasn't paying attention like I should have and he just collapsed yesterday. I can't believe I let that happen. I know better than that. I know Edward doesn't always think about eating. When he's painting or drawing he can fixate for hours and hours and forget to eat altogether, if I'm not there to remind him._

_Fuck. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to take care of them? It's barely been two weeks and I already failed Edward._

I slammed the lid of the laptop shut. I couldn't read it. I couldn't stand the way she was blaming herself. Blaming herself for _my_ stupidity, _my_ inability to focus on the world around me, hell, on the world _inside_ me.

I stormed back to Bella's room. Rose was sitting with her, and when I barged in her head snapped up and she glared at me.

"What's the matter with you?" she hissed.

"What? Afraid I'm going to wake her up? Isn't that the fucking point?"

"Edward!"

"Did you know?" I asked.

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know that she thinks we're all _her_ responsibility? Or she did. That Charlie and Renee _tasked_ her with taking care of all of us?"

Rose shook her head slowly, her face getting pale.

"Fuck," I muttered. My shoulders slumped and I rubbed my face with my hands, wincing when I brushed against my nose.

"She never said anything," Rose whispered.

"Well, she wouldn't, would she? She would never tell us that."

"Oh, Bella." Rose had turned to look at her, brushing the hair from her cheek. "Bella, we didn't need you to take care of us. Just to love us and let us love you."

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. I thumped the back of my head against the wall a few times. "I feel like I never knew her at all, Rose."

I felt cool hands on my face. I opened my eyes and looked at Rose.

"You knew her, Edward. You may not have known every thought in her head, or the things she kept hidden from all of us, but who would? Who could? You're not a mind-reader."

I snorted.

"You knew her here," she said placing her hand over my heart. "You knew that part of her and no number of words is going to change that."

I held Rose's hand over my heart. "But is it enough? What now? After all this time?"

She patted my cheek with her other hand. "That I can't tell you, Edward. I don't know if it's enough. I just don't know anymore." She kissed my forehead and untangled her hands from mine before resuming her seat by Bella's bedside.

I watched them for another minute, before heading back to the cafeteria when I realized that in my haste and anger, I'd left my computer sitting on the table. It was still sitting there when I returned, looking forlorn next to my abandoned cup of coffee. If that wasn't a metaphor, I didn't know what was.

_January 20, 2002_

_I'm trying to be quiet so I don't wake Edward, but . . . god. I don't know what came over me tonight. I just . . . I just needed him so much. I know he's only been home for a couple of days, but I couldn't keep my hands off him. I needed to feel him, to just feel . . . alive. I feel like all around me is death and sickness. Even though we've buried them, every room holds Mom and Daddy's ghosts and it feels like they're pulling me under._

_Edward and Rose went to the store, and when they came back I jumped onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing him like he'd been gone for weeks instead of hours._

" _Baby, baby, what is it? Not that I'm complaining, but what's wrong? What—" His question cut off when I ground myself against him._

" _Upstairs, now," I whispered._

_Edward collapsed on top of me on the bed, his lips all over my face and my neck as we pressed and pulled against each other. Our clothes were just shoved out of the way, and then Edward was pushing into me, my hands clawing at his back, pulling him closer, deeper. I don't remember the last time I came so hard or so fast._

I remembered that night so clearly. Bella and I had always had great sex. Sometimes it was tender, and sometimes it was hard and fast. Sometimes our climaxes were thunderous, and at others they rolled over us like warm water. That night, however, it was explosive. My pants were around my ankles, her skirt pushed up, underwear pulled to the side, and her breath was hot, so very hot against my neck as she cried out. Then she was soft and pliant under me, her limbs boneless as I undressed and maneuvered us under the covers. She fell asleep quick and deep, her body nestled against mine, her hands clenched in tight little fists.

_I felt so alive, so connected to him. Our hearts beating in time, pumping and feeding life into us, into me. Always, always with him there's this rhythm, this connection, and it feeds me, nurtures me, succors me. I don't know what I'd do if I lost him too._

I scrolled forward, dreading the entry I was searching for.

_April 21, 2002_

_No. It's not possible. It's just . . . not . . . possible. He made a mistake. He's upset and he made a mistake and he'll be back. He will. He . . . I . . ._

_And last night? I don't understand what happened. Where he went or why, and now this? God I was so mad at him, and worried. But he came back and let me yell at him and scream and cry, and then he loved me . . . loved me so good against the wall. It was needy, like I was after Mom and Daddy died. And we were alive and him in me and on me, holding me, kissing me and . . ._

_Oh god, it was goodbye._

_No. No. No. It can't . . . I can't . . ._

_I don't care what his letter says. He doesn't need to change. He doesn't . . . He'll be back._

_April 22, 2002_

_He's still not back. I've read his letter over and over. It doesn't matter what he wrote, of course it's me. If I was enough for him, he wouldn't need to go 'find himself.' What does he think he has to prove? He has nothing to prove to me._

_What if he never comes back? I can't . . . I don't think I can do this without him. I can't breathe . . . I can't breathe . . ._

My heart hurt. Her lack of breath, mine. Her pain, mine. The past me and the present me collided in a wash of sorrow and heartbreak, for what I endured, for what she suffered, for what I caused.

_April 30, 2002_

_I'm going to kill him. When we find him, I'm going to kill him. And if he's dead, I'm going to bring him back and kill him all over again._

I laughed, picturing her fierce face as she wrote it. Imagining the way she would come at me, all impotent fists and fury, like an angry kitten. Then imagining became remembering. Remembering her anger that night and the way it abated, with her wrapped tight around me, pouring myself into her, trying to memorize it all.

Saying goodbye.

_May 5, 2002_

_The private investigator says he tracked Edward to Denver, but then lost his trail. He's going to check the motels. I told him to check the hospitals._

_June 15, 2002_

_Rose says I have to get out of bed._

I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry for the death of hope, and the death of the indomitable spirit that had carried all of us for so long.

_June 20, 2002_

_Happy birthday, Edward._

It wasn't, and hasn't been since. Some ignored, some forgotten beneath the haze of too much alcohol or other substances, some between the legs of no one worth mentioning, and some spent in pathetic self-reflection and self-flagellation. But none of them, happy.

_June 24, 2002_

_Rose dragged me to a doctor today. He gave me some pills. I won't take them._

_July 3, 2002_

_Alice and Tanya tried to convince me to come to the lake for the Fourth. I know I'm disappointing them all, but I just can't. Since we were nine years old I'd spent the Fourth of July with Edward. There was no was way I was going, but I put on enough of an act to convince them that I'd be okay and that they should go without me._

I was asleep in bathroom of a bus station that Fourth of July.

_August 1, 2002_

_I just got back from Albuquerque. A John Doe matching Edward's description was brought into the emergency room at the local hospital, believed to be in a diabetic coma._

_The whole way there all I could think was: what would I say to him? I kept vacillating between begging him to come back and slapping him and walking away. But I'm weak. I know I would have begged._

_It wasn't him, and the hole where my heart used to be grew a little bigger._

I was in a hospital in Los Angeles, but not because of my diabetes. Some people always want what others have, even if they have very little. It's amazing how hard you fight to keep that little bit.

_August 25, 2002_

_School starts soon. I've changed my major to English. It's an easier subject for me, and I'll still manage to graduate. None of it really matters anymore. It should. I know it should, but I just don't care._

I took away her dream of being a doctor. My dreams, my desires, my needs for self-awareness and actualization, to become what I then believed was a real man, killed hers.

_September 28, 2002_

_I go to school and I come home. I can't stand to look at the campus. Can't stand to see the places we used to sit. The places we used to kiss. Or that place we once made love. I avoid the art buildings like the plague, taking circuitous routes around the campus to get to my classes. I sit in my classes, but I don't participate._

_I love the classics, but have nothing to offer. What can I say about love? What can I add to the story of Elizabeth and Darcy? I can only speak to heartbreak. I am not Elizabeth. I am Marianne, but no Colonel Brandon is coming to rescue me._

I was disgusted with myself, because I'd killed love in the most loving of people.

_October 15, 2002_

_We're being forced to work on a group project. I met with three people from my class today. One of them, Liam, touched me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I left as soon as we finished, making some inane excuse, while the others continued to chat._

_I started walking to my car, head down, hiding behind my hair. It's a surprisingly effective curtain. No one expects anything from you when they can't meet your eyes._

_Liam came after me. He apologized for freaking me out, but I told him not to worry about. It wasn't his fault that I couldn't stand the feel of another man's touch on my skin. It only served as a painful reminder of what I'd lost and would never have again._

_Then he asked me out for coffee._

_And I panicked._

_He tried to backpedal and tell me it was just as friends, but all I could do was run away and tell him I was sorry._

And I continued the self-flagellation.

_November 28, 2002_

_It was Thanksgiving today. I let Alice organize dinner. Rose brought someone with her. They look so happy. I know I disappointed them. It's all I seem to do anymore._

I ate candied yams out of a can with three other people squatting in the condemned house we were calling home. All in all, I'd have to call it one of my better days in that year.

_December 20, 2002_

_Another hospital, another mistake._

_December 23, 2002_

_Rose came home, alone. Paul is an asshole._

_December 25, 2002_

_Rose dragged me out of bed. We opened gifts. I didn't even know what the housekeeper bought them with the money I gave her._

_I'm a horrible person._

I ate Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve, with three thousand other homeless at the Los Angeles Mission, surrounded by people, accepted by all, and yet never feeling more alone.

I continued to skim through the following months, each one only further illustrating the fallout from my leaving. Bella went through four of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. The last one going on for months and months and months; her short, one or two line journal entries became indicative of the walking automaton she had become, until she even stopped her daily writing and only bothered on occasion. But she hadn't come to acceptance yet. If anything, her attitude had become one of resignation.

_March 16, 2003_

_I was watching a documentary on t.v. today and there was a program about Doctors Without Borders/MSF. I was impressed at the selflessness of these people, these doctors, nurses and other staff who give up their time to work around the world and help where it's needed most. I've asked the family foundation to look into making a donation._

My interest was similarly piqued, but for different reasons. It was the first mention of what would eventually become an important part of her life.

_April 2, 2003_

_I've met with the head of the corporate relations department for MSF. I've been suitably impressed and gave them our family foundation's annual support. Someone should benefit from all this money._

_April 16, 2003_

_I went to the shelter for the first time in nearly a year. I'm finally beginning to blow the dust off. I know my life will never be the same as it was. I know my heart will always be missing a piece of itself, but as long as I'm breathing, I may as well be useful to someone._

_Rose, Alice and Tanya were so happy to hear about my recent forays back into charity work, that I'm finally realizing the toll my selfishness has taken on them, even if they aren't here to see it on a day to day basis. But with graduation looming, I know they will be back and I will at least put on a semblance of living for them._

_June 20, 2003_

_The irony of this date does not escape me, but I couldn't very well tell Northwestern to halt its commencement proceedings because today is Edward's birthday. Rose, Alice and Tanya were all there having already graduated earlier this month and last month. I wasn't going to walk, but the thought of how disappointed they would be made me decide to suck it up._

_After, Rose and I talked and although she knows how I feel, she convinced me to go out again._

_She said, "You don't have to marry anyone, but just . . . get out of the house. Shit, just fuck someone! I don't care, but don't sit here closed off from the world."_

_I realized she was right._

_I didn't have to ever fall in love in again. But I could just fuck someone if I wanted to._

_We ran into some of the old crowd at the restaurant later that evening; the rest of the blue blood and money crowd that we knew from the various "events" we sometimes had to attend as kids and young adults, sons and daughters of our parents' friends. After spending some time with them, Mike Newton asked if I would go out with him sometime. Bolstered by more than a few drinks and Rose's encouraging elbow in my side, I agreed. We're going out next week._

I knew I shouldn't be angry reading it, but I couldn't help myself. As I'd told Emmett before, it was one thing to know that maybe Bella went out with someone while we were apart, but another to be confronted with names, dates, her intention to fuck them.

And I remembered Mike Newton. I remembered him well. He was one of the ones talking that night. He was the one that said I chose well by picking Bella, instead of one of the other girls.

_June 28, 2003_

_I can't do this. I can't just pretend everything's okay. I tried. For Rose and Alice and Tanya, I tried._

_But I'm dead inside._

_I went out with Mike, resolved to just do it, just "get back in the saddle" as Rose would say. After dinner we came back to the house and I took him to the guest room. I couldn't be with him in my room, Edward's room, our room._

_The kisses were awkward and messy, and I tried to tell myself that it was just different, just different. His hands were hard, and his skin rough against mine, but I let him take off my clothes. His fingers pressed into me, and it hurt._

" _Jesus, you're barely even wet," he muttered._

_I tried to get into it, but it just didn't feel right. It didn't feel good. Everything about it was wrong, and my brain was screaming at me that it was wrong, but I kept telling myself that I just had to get over this hurdle, and then it would be okay again._

_There was no passion. There was no . . . connection. And I couldn't relax. I couldn't get into it. He kept pushing his fingers in, and it burned. He spit on his fingers and tried again. Then he pulled them out, put a condom on and went to push into me. I couldn't even look at him, and turned my head to the side._

" _Oh, so that's how you want it?" He grabbed me by the hips and flipped me over, face down on the bed, bent over the edge at the waist. Before I could even register it, I felt him pushing his way in. I was nowhere near ready and it hurt. I cried out._

_He leaned over me and began whispering filthy things in my ear, as one of his hands held my head by my hair. He kept slamming into me over and over, an uncomfortable burn, until finally, "Yeah, fuck," he cried out._

_As soon as he pulled out, I began to cry._

" _Jesus, Bella. What are you? Frigid or something?" he asked. He grabbed his clothes in anger. "You must be. Women love fucking me, so there must be something wrong with you." He pulled his pants on, his shirt hanging unbuttoned and open. "No wonder he fucking left you. It's like fucking a corpse."_

_And the sad thing is that he was right. I'm a living corpse. A shell of a person. I'm dead and my body just hasn't gotten the message yet. So I think I'm going to help it along now._

_July 3, 2003_

_I've finally been released from the hospital, after I convinced them that the overdose was accidental. I don't remember much, but Rose apparently found me in the morning. I told the doctors that I'd had too much to drink and probably just misjudged or forgotten what I'd taken, and promising them that I had no intention of taking my own life._

_I answered all of their questions correctly, and as I didn't appear to be a danger to myself or anyone else, they released me._

_Answering Rose's questions was a different matter. She saw through the bullshit._

_So, I had to tell her about Mike. Not in detail, I didn't tell her that we'd actually had sex. I told her that I froze. But I did tell her part of what he said. I told that I felt like he was right, I was dead on the inside so I may as well be dead on the outside._

_I spent the next twenty minutes listening to a blistering lecture about how lucky I am that Alice and Tanya weren't home, and did I have any fucking idea what I put Rose through, or what it would do to them if I had killed myself._

_By the time we got home we were both sobbing messes, and I promised her I'd never do it again. I won't. I can't hurt them like that. So, I'll suck it up. I'll plaster a smile on my face and make like everything is fine, and I'll walk my animated corpse around Chicago society and pretend to give a fuck._

"No. No. No. No. Oh god, please no," I whispered over and over. Bella had tried to take her own life. This was what Rose hinted at the night of my show. This is what she meant about the extent to which I'd broken her.

I sat in the cafeteria, but was oblivious to everything going on around me. The people and noise faded away until all I could see and hear were Bella's words swimming before my eyes, echoing in my ears. I was devastated. The thought of a world without Bella in it was anathema, and I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. I leaned forward and put my head between my legs, trying not to pass out.

When I was a little calmer, I looked over the entry again and got angry. I knew what I'd done to Bella was awful, unforgivable even, no matter that I was still going to try to earn her forgiveness anyway.

But Newton? That piece of shit had his hands on my Bella. He hurt my Bella. He fucked my Bella, and then left her feeling like she was nothing, worse than nothing, when what he did was a hairsbreadth away from being rape. The sick, sick fuck. If I ever saw him again . . . no, when I saw him again, I was going to kill him.


	19. Chapter 19

RPOV

After I threw the boys out—I wasn't ready to call them men at that point—I sank into the chair next to Bella and lay my head down on the bed next to her.

"Jesus, Bella. You sure can pick 'em," I teased. I didn't know if she could hear me or not, but they say people in comas can hear their loved ones, so I tried to talk to her like I would if she was awake.

"And you're not going to believe this, Bella, but Emmett? Well," I paused looking for the right word. "Emmett is special," I whispered. "I haven't felt this way since, well you know since when, only Emmett doesn't have a wife." I laughed a bit, and it was nice that I could now.

"He does have a dad though," I continued and shook my head. I still couldn't believe it. "Do you remember the proposal I put together for the military? The one on lasers?" I knew better than to explain the technicalities of my research to her, she always teased me that only a fellow "physics nerd" would understand me anyway. I smiled since that's exactly what Emmett was under all the muscle and the MBA. "Well, it turns out that Emmett's father is the head of the Senate Armed Services Committee." I shook my head as I remembered what Emmett told me.

_"Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out."_

" _Emmett," I warned. "Just spit it out."_

_He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said, "My father is Senator Robert McCarty of the great state of Tennessee." Then he opened one eye to peek at me._

" _Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked. Not only had the committee shot down my proposal on laser guided missile systems, but Senator McCarty was the most patronizing asshole I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. "This is perfect," I muttered as I turned and started walking. "Just fucking perfect."_

" _Rose!" Emmett called after me. "Please, don't walk away," he said as he grabbed my arm._

" _I'm not walking away, you dolt! I'm pacing!"_

" _He's my dad, Rose. He's not me."_

" _I know that, Em, but ugh . . . just ugh! Your dad is an asshole."_

" _Jesus, Rose! C'mon, he's my dad for cryin' out loud! And if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even be here right now."_

_I stopped pacing, shoulders slumped. He was right. It was unfair of me to unload my frustration at the committee on him. I turned to him and pressed my face to his chest. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "It's just, I worked on that for so long, and then to be dismissed like that . . . I don't like to lose, Emmett. Plus, your dad was really patronizing. I kept expecting him to say, 'well, little lady,' or some shit like that."_

_Emmett snorted a laugh and I couldn't help but laugh with him. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. "When I had to explain to him why I wanted to come here, do you know what he said to me?"_

_I shook my head._

" _He said, 'Son, that little lady is one of the smartest women I've ever met, and I've met some sharks in my time on the Hill. So, if she's what you want, what you really want, I'll help you out. But one word of advice: don't piss her off. She's got a temper like a scalded she-cat!'"_

_I shook with laughter. "Christ, he really did call me 'little lady' didn't he?"_

" _He did," Emmett said with a laugh. "But he also said that you were a victim of politics, and that he hoped it didn't deter you from trying again."_

" _So what you're trying to tell me is that your dad isn't a bad guy?"_

_He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I am."_

" _Well, maybe now that I have an 'in,' I can try again," I teased. Not that I would ever do that. I wanted my work to stand on its own merits._

"Anyway, Bella, he's different. He makes me feel like," and I tried to find the words. "He just makes me feel again. When he looks at me," I trailed off again. I couldn't put it into words. Bella was good with words. I was good with facts and logic, science and numbers.

I thought about it for a while, puzzling over just what it was I felt when Emmett looked at me, and after a few minutes it hit me.

He looked at me like I was his world.

The realization rocked me. I was by turns elated and terrified. It was so fast, so sudden, and yet felt right.

I sat and pondered it for a while, and eventually Edward made his way back in.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'm sorry about that, Rose." He closed his eyes, his lips pursed like he was thinking about something. "It's my fault," he said. "I had no business reacting to what Jasper said that way. I hate that I lost control of myself like that."

I was stunned. I remembered Edward's occasional temper when we were younger. I remember that anytime Bella was threatened, or Edward even sensed that someone was looking at her funny, his temper would rear its ugly head. But I don't ever recall him apologizing for it. In fact, what I recall is spending time calming him down from one of those incidents. They didn't happen often, but they were spectacular in their intensity.

I let him have some time alone with Bella while I went to grab a bite and take a shower. When I got back, I sent Edward to go get some sleep. After a little while, Emmett and Jasper returned. I saw Jasper's eyes scanning for Edward and told him that Edward went back to Fisher House. Jasper stayed by the door, but Emmett came to give me a kiss and tell me that they were going out for a bit. I told him that I was glad he and Jasper were going to talk, because I thought Jasper really could use a friend right about then.

After they left, I just sat and talked to Bella. I read to her from a magazine. I talked about work, Emmett, anything, just to let her hear my voice. Eventually I dozed off, until Edward came barging in. My head snapped up when I heard the door slam and heavy footfalls stomping in.

Then there were Edward's words and the pain and the hurt. To think that Bella felt like she _had_ to take care of all of us, that she felt we were her responsibility . . . it made me a little sick to be honest. What's worse is that she didn't need to do it. We all loved her so much and that's all we needed, for her to love us and let us love her back.

And then there was Edward, so lost and scared. I tried to comfort him, but I had no magic words, no way to promise him it would all work out. I could only remind him of the love they'd shared, and hope it was enough. Enough for what though?

Enough for a reconciliation?

Enough for expiation?

Enough for forgiveness?

Enough for healing their wounds?

I didn't even know what the best option was, only that I hoped that the love they once shared would stop the pain they both felt.

After Edward left, I held Bella's hand in mine. "I wish I knew what to say, how to make it better for you, for Edward, hell even for Jasper. I just . . . I just want you to wake up, Bella. Please come back to us," I pled.

Emmett and Jasper got back, and Emmett and I left Jasper with Bella. It was obvious they'd had quite a bit to drink, but Jasper seemed calm, contemplative.

Emmett walked with me to our room, filling me in on his evening with Jasper. When he told me about Jasper's wife and child I had to fight not to cry. It was one thing to guess at the truth, another to hear it.

Poor Jasper. The fear he must have felt to see Bella hurt in an explosion, in a car no less, must have been horrific. It made me even more sympathetic to him, and again I couldn't help but wonder who would be the better choice for Bella. I really didn't know.

What I did know was that I was inordinately relieved that Emmett was with me. His presence grounded me in the face of all the tragedy we were experiencing. He held my hand and we entered the room in silence, each in our own thoughts.

The door shut behind us and I continued walking toward the bed, pulling Emmett with me, needing him. Quiet kisses and touches were followed by soft moans and whispers. Lips, tongue, fingers and skin. The tender pressure of his hands on me, around me, in me. The feel of his body under my touch. The taste of him on my tongue and feel of him in my mouth. The perfect sensation of him entering me, filling me, loving me, tethering me with his strength and sturdiness.

I moved above him, taking my pleasure in his body and my orgasm rocking me with catharsis, and then I was beneath him, pinned to the mattress by the weight of his body on mine and the way his blue eyes locked onto my brown, showing me the depth of him as well.

After, his arms wrapped around me, his body pressed close to mine, both of us languid and sated, we talked. We talked about growing up in Tennessee and having a senator for a father and playing football. I told him about growing up with the Swans, and about my parents and Royce King.

I told him I could never have children.

"You're incredible," he whispered against my neck. His fingers trailed down my side, "So strong." His hand settled on my stomach. "Being a mother has nothing to do with this," he said. "Your own parents are proof of that. Renee Swan was proof of that. You will be a fantastic mother some day, Rosalie Hale."

We talked until sleep claimed us, pulling us under like wayward children who were staying up past bed time, only to finally succumb with a dead-to-the-world finality. When I woke up several hours later, Emmett was still curled around me, his arms still holding me close, like he was afraid to let go, and that was just fine with me.

I lay there a while, enjoying the quiet and the comfort, until I felt him hard against my backside. I grinned as I pressed against him.

"Good morning," he groaned against my hair.

"Is it morning?" I asked. I was so turned around by the time difference and the strange hours we were keeping at the hospital.

"I think so," he said as he rocked against me.

"Mmmm."

My hips tilted to meet his.

An hour and a half later I was back in Bella's room, and Emmett was grabbing breakfast with Jasper.

"Yeah, it's official, Bell, I'm not falling . . . I've fallen. Shit. Just wake up already, so I can talk to you about all this! Alice is just going to squeal in my ear. I need you, Bell. I need you," I said as I held her hand in mine.

After a little while, all three guys made their way back to the room. The tension was ridiculous, but neither Jasper nor Edward would budge, even though I knew Jasper probably hadn't slept much, if at all. I looked at Emmett and rolled my eyes. He just smiled at me, but didn't say anything.

Jasper sat in a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. I was relieved that he finally seemed to be getting a little sleep.

The nurse came in and adjusted a few things, checking Bella's feeding tube and the IV. When she moved Bella's arm back down, the gown revealed the tattoo on her arm. Edward traced a finger over the Sanksrit lettering.

"What does it mean?" he whispered.

"I have no idea," I replied. "It's her newest one. I didn't have a chance to ask her about it."

"Death is as sure for that which is born, as birth is for that which is dead. Therefore grieve not for what is inevitable," Jasper answered. "It's from the Bhagavad Gita."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Jasper pushed the cap back up on his head and looked at Edward. "It means accept the inevitable. Accept the things you can't change."

Edward rubbed his hand over his face, frustration etched in every muscle. He looked at me. "You said it was her newest. When did she get it done? How many does she have?"

"She did it about four months ago when we were in Thailand," Jasper answered before I could.

"What were you doing in Thailand? There's no war going on there."

Jasper grinned. "No, that was just rest and relaxation," and there was no mistaking the innuendo in Jasper's words. Edward, to his credit, didn't rise to the bait. "There's great rock climbing in Thailand."

"Rock climbing?" Edward asked, stunned, and I heard him whisper again, even quieter than before, "I don't know her at all."

"Oh, and three," Jasper said.

"What?" Edward asked, pulled from his musing.

"You asked how many tattoos Bella has. She has three."

I watched Edward's gaze move over Bella's body and then the look on his face as he realized the tattoos were only in places covered by clothing; places only someone with intimate knowledge of Bella's body would know. I watched him grind his teeth.

"Edward, be a love and get me a Diet Coke," I asked. "Please?" I begged when he looked up at me. I just wanted him to leave before he did something stupid.

"What?" He looked up. "Oh, yeah, umm okay."

"I'll go with you," Emmett piped up, and the two of them left the room.

I turned to Jasper. "Why do you keep goading him?"

Jasper drew up his legs and rested his forearms on his knees. He leaned forward and looked at me. "Because he needs to know that he can't just come back into her life like that."

"I think he knows that, Jasper."

"Does he? Because I thought that he believed he could just waltz back into her life and pick up where he left off. Like she'd just be waiting for him. Like there'd be no one . . ." he trailed off in frustration.

"Like there'd be no one else in her life?" I finished. I moved and sat by Bella, picking up her hand.

He stood up and paced. "Damn it. I'm not going to let him . . . I love her, Rosalie. I'm not going to make this easy on him. I can't." He leaned over Bella and kissed her head. "I love you, beautiful. Do you hear me? I love you." He pressed his forehead against hers for a minute, then said, "I'll be outside."

I watched him walk out, his tall frame graceful and lithe, and only after the door closed behind him did I realize I was holding my breath. "Wow," I said as I exhaled. "As professions of love go, that was a doozy, Bella."

That's when I felt her squeeze my hand.


	20. Chapter 20

EPOV

I decided to go for a run. I'd never been much of an athlete, but running was something I was good at. Bella used to joke that it was because I could just zone out and keep going, totally unaware of my surroundings or whether my body was protesting.

She was right.

I'd started running again in the previous few years, both as exercise and to empty my head. Emmett would go with me on occasion, but he always complained that he couldn't keep up. I dropped off my laptop at the room and set out.

Bella's words kept flashing in front of my eyes, and I could even hear her soft whisper telling me about all the ways I'd failed her, how I nearly killed her. Each slap of my foot on the pavement was a staccato beat, a reminder of the disaster I'd left in my wake, like a metronome ticking to the same rhythm: _a living corpse, a living corpse, a living corpse_.

I picked up the pace, pushing myself, running hard, but not to escape the words. Instead, I wanted them drummed into me, into my muscles, my soul, my heart, so that no matter what else the future held, I would never forget the damage my foolish and selfish decisions had caused.

Forty-five sweat drenched minutes later, I returned to the room. I checked my blood sugar levels, ate a snack, and showered. Sleep eluded me at first, but I managed a few hours before going back to Bella's room. I needed to be near her, to hear her breathing and feel her pulse under my fingertips, tangible reminders that she was still there, and to feed the hope that she would open her eyes soon.

Everyone was there, Rose, Jasper, Emmett, and a nurse was tending to Bella. It seemed as though Jasper was asleep, but of course he had to remind me, yet again, of how well he knew Bella, and not just on a sexual level.

I know Rose sent me out of the room to diffuse the situation, but I didn't like it. I wanted to be there, with Bella, not being sent out of the room like a child. So, I left the hospital. I didn't bother with the Diet Coke, and I didn't go back to see Bella. If Rose wanted to talk to Jasper, then I was going to stay out of the way.

Which brought me right back to the room and my laptop, and Bella's journals. I scanned through the next year: past another Thanksgiving and Christmas which Bella treaded water through, another one of my birthdays and hers. I could see the difference in her entries. They weren't as full of pain and desolation as her earlier ones, but they held no life in them either. There was no spark of anything _Bella_ to them. They were just words, a litany of events and circumstances that held no interest for her.

_August 3, 2004_

_Finally. After months of wrangling with them, I've gotten the okay to travel to Sudan with MSF. The family foundation has been donating money, and I've been schmoozing everyone and anyone._

_They didn't want to take me at first because I don't really have any field skills, but I think they finally humored me just to keep the money they get from us. I may have hinted that I was considering donating money elsewhere . . . maybe._

_I can't wait to get out of here. I can't look at these walls or breathe the air here anymore, or even stand to see their faces anymore—walls that hold nothing but ghosts, air that stifles me with stagnation, and faces that reflect only pity and anger and disappointment._

_Maybe I'll finally find something worth doing over there, something to fill up the monotony and desolation of my existence. Everything here is gray and frayed. The parties with the "important people" that once seemed so glamorous, I now see for what they are._

_Women with too much plastic surgery, their cheekbones preternaturally rounded and their skin stretched too tight, each with the same nose and a Joker-like smile, so that they all resemble each other to the point of becoming a separate species, a breed apart that is freakish and obscene in its slavish devotion to the false god of youth. While the men parade their twenty-something, replacement trophy wives in front of their exes or fuck the help in a spare room._

_Party after party, the same circle jerk of platitudes and air kisses and backstabbing, all of it done in the name of charity and philanthropy. I don't know how Mom and Daddy ever stood it, but I suppose it's why they rarely took us to those functions. I remember watching them get ready; Rose, Tanya, Alice and I would watch Mom get dressed, and she would let us put a little lipstick on when we were small, and Alice would teeter around in Mom's high heels, and when they walked down the stairs we would sigh and wish we were going too. Mom always looked like Cinderella going to the ball._

_Only now I know that it isn't Cinderella who is enchanted, but the ball itself and when the mask of magic falls away there remains nothing but ugliness, pettiness, and vanity. I'm also remembering the arguments Mom and Daddy would sometimes have after one of the parties._

" _Baby, are you jealous?" Daddy asked incredulously._

_Mom pursed her lips and sniffed at him. "Of course not. I just don't understand why Megan Mallory has to snuffle around you like . . . like . . . like a pig looking for truffles. And have you seen the way her daughter behaves?"_

" _Pigs and truffles?" Daddy was laughing, but then he caught her wrist and pulled her close. "The only truffles I like are chocolate ones, and they're best when I'm melting them over your skin," he said so softly, I almost couldn't hear him from my hiding place. And then, I really didn't want to hear anything else, so I ran back to my room._

_Of course, now the job falls to me. So I make the rounds, and I smile my pretty, fake smile and I shill for the various organizations that our family's foundation supports. I watch Megan Mallory and her slut of a daughter try to dig their claws into every man there. I even kiss Mike Newton on the cheek when I see him and tell his date how lovely I think her dress is. I laugh and I air kiss and I ass kiss. I solicit and I flirt and I play the game._

_And I hate every minute of it._

_But it's all I have now. So to be able to escape it, even for a little while, and even if they don't really want me in the field, is a relief I look forward to._

I hated that Bella's life, her home, everything she was a part of had become painful, disgusting, and meaningless to her, and I knew all of that could be laid at my feet. The thought of her being polite to Newton made my blood boil, but worse is that she felt the need to escape her home.

Charlie and Renee's home had always been a haven to me, and the happiest memories of my life took place within those walls. Before I left, they'd been the happiest times of Bella's life as well, but my actions had sullied those memories and instead of being comforted by those walls, Bella was suffocated.

It physically hurt to read about it.

_September 2, 2004_

_We arrived in Khartoum too late in the day to begin the trek to the MSF camp in the Darfur. In addition, we were stuck for a few hours in customs, as the authorities hassled my companions about the supplies they were bringing with them. We were going round and round in circles, until I finally slipped the man who seemed to be in charge a fifty dollar bill. Suddenly, they were bending over backwards to help us._

_I didn't say a word to my companions, but one of them, a man named Eleazar, kept shooting me looks, and I think he knew what I did, but he didn't comment on it. As it is, they all see me as a spoiled, moneyed princess who came on a whim. Not that any of them have been anything but polite, but they haven't exactly been friendly and welcoming either. I think they see me as a burden._

_I don't really care though. I'm not here to make friends, and they don't know the first thing about me. Let them see what they want._

_The heat in the city is tremendous. Back home the weather this time of year is usually quite beautiful, even if a bit chilly at night. Here, however, it was about 102 when we stepped off the plane, and although it was just dark when we arrived at the hotel, it was still hovering in the high 80's. It is dry and hot and dusty, and I love it._

_We all met downstairs for dinner, and I was assailed with the smells of foreign cooking. Garlic, lamb, cumin, and the nutty scent of toasted sesame greeted us as we walked into the restaurant. We dined on lentil soup and lamb and a pungent bean dish made of fava beans. There was bread and something made from okra, as well as a tomato dish and a cucumber and yogurt salad. No alcohol was served as sharia law controls Sudan, but with our desserts we were treated to the most unique and flavorful coffee I've ever had, sweet and spiced with cardamom._

_At dinner, we were met by another man, Ben Cheney. He is a communications and computer expert who will be traveling with us, but he arrived separately the day before. Whereas the rest of my companions were politely disinterested in me, Ben sat by my side and attempted to engage me in conversation throughout. I deflected most of his questions to me by asking him about himself. There wasn't much about me I was willing to share._

_After dinner the others continued talking in their familiar way, but I excused myself to go to my room, not wanting to outstay my tenuous welcome. Ben offered to walk me, and although I tried to politely refuse, he insisted. When we reached my room, it was clear he was hoping the night wouldn't end, but I declined._

_He gave me a small smile and then . . . then he brushed a piece of hair off my face and said, "He's a fool."_

" _I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, but he continued on._

" _Whoever it was that made your eyes so sad. He was a fool." And then he turned and walked away._

_I walked into the room and all I wanted to do was scream, because even here, halfway around the fucking world, I can't escape Edward._

_We were up early the next morning and after a quick breakfast, we were on our way. Although we weren't on a sightseeing expedition, Ben made sure to point out some of the sights of the city as we left. It is a strange place, a paradoxical blend of old Arabic and modern city. Gleaming metal buildings contrast with the muddy brown minarets of the mosques. And despite sitting on the confluence of the White and Blue Niles, the colors of Khartoum are black, brown and blue; black people, brown buildings and earth and dust, and blue skies that almost never see a cloud. There is little green, and the exotic and romanticized city of Heston and Olivier's movie is, in reality, a place where time seems stuck. Everything moves slowly, it is sedate, and the people seem to be waiting for something, anything, to happen._

I skimmed over the next pages detailing the journey itself and the numerous checkpoints, permits, travel documents and other obstacles it took for them to arrive. My fingers clenched the table tight as I read about them all being removed from their car at gunpoint until their documents were cleared.

_September 6, 2004_

_For the first time in two years I feel like I have a purpose. I can't begin to describe everything I've seen in the last few days. The horror of this war is impossible to wrap one's head around. It's not just being fought on a front, with guns and artillery, but against the people, the civilians._

_It's the rape of women, the mutilation of small children, the death of thousands. It is horrific and terrifying._

_It is genocide and the world is doing nothing._

_Today I watched the doctors treat a small child who was shot while in his mother's arms. The mother died when the bullet's trajectory continued into her. Because it took so long until he received treatment, he has no function in his arm below the elbow, and his father will forever be imprinted with the image of his wife's sorrow as she slowly died._

_With meager supplies and under terrible conditions, these men and women save lives. It is humbling to watch and I want to do more, to help in a tangible way, but their reluctance to have me here is somewhat justified. I have no skills to offer, no training for this. I do my best to help and to stay out of the way._

_I've been trying to figure out the best way to help supply the doctors in the field. The reality is that there is so much corruption on the ground that much is lost. Paying off officials like I did at the airport doesn't help the organization either because then it becomes expected. They have to go through official channels, always. So I'm going to have to figure out how to do things unofficially._

The next entries were about her attempts to figure out the logistics of creating a supply chain and getting it to the people who needed it. Some were more successful than others. Then, an entry made me sit up and take notice.

_November 6, 2004_

_I've finally met someone that can help me. I'm not naïve, though. His reputation is unsavory at best, and if some rumors are to be believed, he is quite dangerous, but I know he can help me._

_His name is Aro Volturi. We meet tomorrow to hammer out the details._

_November 8, 2004_

_The meeting with Aro went better than I expected. His connections are remarkable. I'll be traveling with a large shipment in a week. He has also impressed upon me the wisdom of traveling under an assumed name to prevent any kidnapping attempts. I decided on Marie Higginbotham, both names I was at least familiar with._

_In exchange for Aro's help, he'll trade on my social standing in order to polish his reputation. He was quite frank, something I found refreshing regardless of what he told me. All that matters is that he can do what no one else can, or wants, to do._

_November 17, 2004_

_It's amazing what connections and greased palms can accomplish. The doctors were grateful for the supplies._

_I'm not sure what I'll do if I run into any of the people from my previous trip, although I suppose I'll have to take them aside and ask for their discretion with regards to my identity. So far, however, I haven't seen any of them._

_November 18, 2004_

_I met a new doctor today. Well, he's not new to the Sudan, but he just arrived from the camp at El Geneia. His name is Carlisle Cullen, and he is one of the most caring and dedicated doctors I've met yet. He's been here, in Darfur, for about a year now. Most don't last so long._

_One of the nurses told me his wife died, but I didn't want to pry. There is a sadness about him though, a brokenness that I recognize. It may not seem right to ask if it's true, but I don't think I have to._

_I feel comfortable here. For the first time since he left, I feel like I fit inside my own skin. It doesn't hurt as much to breathe when I'm here; the hole inside, the pain that goes with it, all seems a little smaller, a little less intense here. I can fill it with hope for these people, and compared to what they endure, my pain is nothing._

_December 27, 2004_

_I know that Alice, Rose, and Tanya were disappointed that I didn't stay for New Year's, but the truth was that even being home for Christmas was too much for me. Still, I endured it for their sakes, and I did enjoy their reactions to my gifts. An antique Arabic abacus for Rose, a mother of pearl inlaid ceremonial knife for Tanya, and set of handmade Dinka baskets for Alice._

_Truth is though, I couldn't wait to come back here. When I'm here, I'm not Bella Swan, heiress, socialite, and the-one-who-was-jilted. Here, I'm Marie; Marie with the supplies that save people's lives. Marie who can be anyone, who can do anything. Marie drinks vodka, not champagne. Marie plays poker, not bridge. Marie is . . . freeing._

Five trips, five entries detailing her travels to Sudan. Each one a revelation. Details about dangers and wonders, pay offs and checkpoints, soldiers and children. Each one providing a tiny piece of this new person Bella had become, and although I wanted to read every word, pour over each syllable and nuance, I needed to move forward. I needed, and dreaded, to read about Carlisle and Jasper.

Emmett would tell me I was being masochistic, that it was enough to know that she'd been with them, but I needed more. And yes, perhaps a part of it was self-flagellation, a way of punishing myself for leaving her in the first place, a just reward for my abandonment of her, but I also needed to know how she felt about them. I was desperate to know if the love that was so apparent in Carlisle and Jasper's eyes was returned.

To know if I had a snowball's chance in hell of ever winning her back.

_March 22, 2005_

_The last two days have been . . . exciting. Wondrous. Horrible. Amazing._

_I feel alive for the first time in years. I can feel my blood flow through my veins again, instead of the sluggish thump pump that kept me breathing. I feel, really feel the wind against my skin and the sun on my face, the cold of the desert night and the sting of the sand during storm. I cry with a dying woman as she laments what will become of her orphan children, and for the first time in ages my heart breaks for someone else again._

_A boy came running into the camp two days ago. His mother had been injured and couldn't make the rest of the trek to us, but we were on lock down as fighting in the area has become rampant. Still, I couldn't stand to see the pain the child's face. I saw that Carlisle was desperate to do something as well._

_He is a good man, a good doctor. I've seen the care he gives these people. He isn't here for glory or to put something on his resume, although I think there is more to his presence than just altruism. I think he's hiding, and I can understand that feeling, but he could have chosen to hide in a bottle, or in a fancy clinic, or anywhere else in the world. Instead he chose the middle of one of the worst human conflicts in decades, under grueling conditions, with temperatures that reach into the 120's, and little in the way of creature comforts._

_So when I saw that Carlisle was so eager to help this child and his mother, I volunteered to drive him. People at the camp couldn't stop us. The Jeep is mine, well, for my use and not owned by MSF. I can come and go as I please. What consequences there may be for Carlisle down the road, I don't know, but neither of us thought about it at the time, we just went._

_We found the mother where the child said she would be, but the soldiers had reached her first. They surrounded us and forced us from the Jeep. I think it was only Carlisle's MSF identification that kept them from killing us right then and there. Or rather, from killing Carlisle right then and there. I have no doubt what they would have done to me. Apparently we didn't walk fast enough for them though, and they pistol whipped Carlisle in the back of the head, then threw us into a nearby hut._

_For the first few hours, we could hear her screams as they raped her. I'd learned enough words in Dinka to make out her pleas for help. Eventually the screams stopped. We heard footsteps approaching our hut, and then arguing outside the door, but no one came in. I gathered that they were trying to decide what to do with us, but it didn't look good._

_Carlisle tried to humor me, but it was obvious we both knew they would probably kill us. When we heard the first sounds of artillery and gunfire, it was still far away. Across the desert sound travels far, and we'd learned to judge distance by the sounds of the guns. Still, it got our adrenaline going. I felt my heart rate spike and when we heard them arguing again, Carlisle held me in his arms._

_I could feel his heart pounding in counterpoint to mine, but at the same frenetic pace. And I didn't want to die, not when I was feeling all this again. I turned to Carlisle and what I saw in his eyes mirrored what I felt, and then his lips were on mine._

_I don't think a hut with a dirt floor in the middle of an armed conflict is what Rose had in mind when she wanted me to get back in the saddle, but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his hands on my body and his mouth against my skin. It was hard and fast and desperate. I'd forgotten how good sex could be, how everything else can disappear and your world narrow down to touch and taste and sensation, and I came so hard I bit Carlisle trying to stifle my scream, as his hoarse, "Oh Christ," was drowned out by the sudden sounds of nearby gunfire._

_We both cursed, and scrambled to put ourselves to rights, before Carlisle smothered me with his body as another round of gunfire erupted nearby, close enough to smell the tang of gunpowder in the air. Then we both started to laugh. It was manic and filled with a strange sort of hysteria, but at the same time it was so liberating. We were quite possibly going to die, and at that moment we both felt brilliantly alive._

_We were rescued, if that's what you want to call it, by government soldiers. At first they gave us a hard time for being out beyond the authorized area that MSF workers were supposed to be, and it looked like things were going to go even more pear-shaped. So I gave them the name of a contact back in Khartoum and told them to say Volturi, which is what Aro told me to do if there was ever an emergency. An hour later we were being escorted back to the hospital camp and being handled like we were precious cargo._

My hands shook as I pushed away from the table, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. I'd known what Carlisle had told me about the start of their . . . relationship. I'd surmised the dangers she encountered as she began her second life, as it were. Reading about it, however, experiencing it through her eyes was more painful than I imagined, not just because Bella was intimate with someone else, but because it—the danger, the near death experiences, the sex—all of it, was a testament to how badly I'd broken her to begin with, and how I was _not_ the one there to piece her back together.

In addition, Bella's partnership of sorts with this Aro Volturi person made me uneasy. If the mere mention of his name could bring those soldiers to heel, and if his connections allowed her to smuggle various supplies into the country, then he was a very dangerous man indeed. Very dangerous. What if he wanted more from her? What if he wanted more than to just trade on her reputation?

Yet, despite the pain and fear I went back to the computer and began to read again. I wanted, no _needed_ , to know everything about those years of Bella's life that I missed. I needed more.

_April 9, 2005_

_I got a tattoo today. Alice has been decorating a house with an Asian theme, and showed me a series of prints of Japanese kanji. Each one had a meaning, and when she showed me the one for "transformation," I knew I had to do it._

_It's on my hip, which is unbelievably cliché, I know, but I'm not ready to put it somewhere everyone can see. I don't want to answer a bunch of questions about it. It's personal. It has meaning to me, and has nothing to do with anyone else._

Well that explained at least one of them, and it didn't take a psychoanalyst to understand the meaning of it either. I did a Google search of the symbol, and studied it. Then I imagined it on Bella, a small swirl of ink on that perfect skin that I'd kissed and licked and loved so often. I saw myself running my finger over the design, and I started to get hard at the thought of touching her again.

Shaking my head, I focused my attention back to the screen in front of me.

_May 12, 2005_

_I'm so excited. I've met someone else who feels like I do, who wants to do more. Well, "met" is probably the wrong word. I met Jasper a few months ago, and we've even played poker once or twice, but I've never really had the chance to talk to him before. But yesterday when I got to the camp, I found out my shipment had been held up because the driver was afraid to come all the way to the camp because of fighting nearby._

_Jasper overheard me yelling on the phone, and I don't know why, but he volunteered to go with me. I was surprised, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The supplies I'd "requisitioned," were too important, too valuable, to leave lying around. Desperate people will steal anything, and even Aro's name can't protect everything._

_I know that Carlisle was disappointed that I was leaving, but he understood. It's been nice having Carlisle there. He is easy. There is no drama, no pain; there are no strings and no expectations. When we are both there, it's just us, and it can be glorious, and when I go home, I leave him behind with Marie. He has no part of "Bella." No one here does. Marie is free to be whoever she wants. Free to be with whomever she wants._

_Bella can't._

_Jasper and I had a chance to talk on the drive. He asked why I do it, why I risked my life doing what I do. I told him it was because I felt like I had to something worthwhile with my life, something to give it meaning. I wasn't going to tell him about Edward or how it made me feel alive again._

_I asked him why he did what he did and he laughed. "For the money," he said. "But," he continued, "I want . . ." his brow furrowed, "I want to help. I've been wrapped up in myself for a long time, Marie. I think I need to do something . . . right."_

_Then he smiled at me, and I realized that in all the months I'd known him, I'd never seen Jasper smile. It lights up his face. He's a handsome man—rugged, earthy, sexy—but there is a melancholy about him. I suppose there is for many of us out here though._

_So I have a partner now. But the really exciting thing is that he has contacts in other countries. There are other places we can also make a difference, like Afghanistan. When we get back to Khartoum we're going to plan some more._

_June 3, 2005_

_I can't deny it anymore. It's not just the freedom that being Marie gives me that makes me feel alive, it's the danger, the risks, the rush of adrenaline when I'm bringing something across the desert, or when I'm caught in a life or death situation. I know this. I understand that there are names for it: adrenaline junkie, thrill seeker, and others, but I don't care. I feel alive again, at least when I'm not home, and I can't, I won't give that up._

_Jasper and I had just delivered a shipment of medication to . . . well, we were delivering a shipment and we were almost caught by local police. We ran down an alley and then Jasper pulled me into what looked like a crack in the walls. It was actually a small passage between two buildings, and we were able to hide there, nestled against an opening that resembled a doorway._

_We were pressed against each other, and we could hear the shouts and running footsteps as they looked for us. My heart was racing, and then I looked up at Jasper and, oh god, the look in his eyes was so fierce, it was feral. Then we were kissing and it was hungry and rough. His hips drove me against the wall, grinding as we attacked each other's mouths._

_He stopped and looked at me for a moment, but I didn't want him to stop, I didn't want to think about it, didn't want him to think about it. I just wanted to feel it, whatever "it" was, to feel him, so I sucked his lower lip into my mouth and then bit. I could taste the coppery tang of blood and I heard Jasper growl. His hands went to the button of my pants and in seconds they were open. He spun me around and pressed me against the wall. He yanked my pants down, pulled my hips back just enough and pushed into me._

_After a few shallow thrusts it wasn't enough for either of us and we stumbled out of the doorway, landing in the dirt, on my hands and knees, Jasper draped over and in me, not heedless of the danger, but in spite of it, spurred on by it._

_It was a hard and bruising, and it felt fantastic. There were no words, no screams, just the animalistic noises of our fucking. The sounds of the police faded away, but I clamped my mouth shut when I came, not wanting to risk discovery, and when Jasper came too, it was quiet, his fingers digging hard into my hips and his chest hard against my back, a soft grunt in my ear._

_We didn't talk the entire way back to the hotel, and the next morning we went our separate ways._

I'd asked for it. I wanted to know, wanted to read it for myself, but the truth hit me square in the gut and I lurched for the toilet. That's where Emmett found me, puking up my lunch.

"Shit, Edward! You okay man?"

I shook my head, miserable.

"Well, pull it together. You have to get to the hospital."

"What's wrong?" I asked, panic in my voice.

"Nothing's wrong, Edward. Everything is good. Bella's waking up."


	21. Chapter 21

_When you step in the room_  
They won't be holding me down,  
All these demons in my head  
Come on let's kill them with sound.  
You see I'm prayin' that you take me  
And you never look back.  
That's why I'm crying to a wall  
Hoping that you come now.

 _Hey...I don't wanna wake up from this._  
I cannot afford to forget.  
The feeling of your arms, they hold me.  
The power of your skin, it's lovely.  
You provoke a man to bow down,  
And I get on my knees and cry out  
"Everything I have is yours now."

 _So the time is now  
Just don't let me down  
Oh the time is now  
Please don't let me down  
_  
 _Get higher, and higher, and higher._  
When my back's against the wall,  
You're the hand that breaks my fall.  
Climb higher, and higher, and higher.  
When my back's against the wall,  
You're the hand that breaks my fall.

Paper Tongues – "Get Higher"

* * *

JPOV

I left Bella's room in a haze of frustration and anger, both of which I knew I shouldn't be feeling, because I wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. Bella—Marie—and I were supposed to be partners, and even though I knew we crossed a line that day in Darfur, I'd believed I could maintain distance from her.

And I worked hard at trying to keep that distance, convincing myself that we were just partners, and then just friends with benefits. I tried not to spend too much time with her outside of our projects, usually leaving as soon as the gig was done, most often on another job for Aro. I should have known something in me had changed when I invited her to go to Thailand with me.

I hadn't planned it, but that day, I just blurted it out.

"God, I could use a massage," Bella said as she stood from where we'd been counting the boxes we had to deliver and stretched, arching her back.

"Is that a hint?" I teased.

She blushed and then stammered, "No! Oh, man, I didn't mean—"

I laughed. "Easy, girl. It's not like I mind having my hands on you."

She tried to punch my arm, but I caught her wrist and pulled her back down to the floor with me, settling her in front of my legs and massaging her shoulders.

"Mmmmm."

I worked my way down her back, my thumbs rubbing out the kinks just above her waist, my body reacting to the appreciative sounds she was making. I kissed her neck while continuing to rub.

"Jesus, Jasper, you're good at this."

I chuckled. "Nah. Good are the masseuses in Thailand."

"I've never been there."

I massaged a little more, my hands sliding back up and along her sides, fingers grazing the curved edges of her breasts. I could hear her breathing pick up. "I'm going there tomorrow."

"Yeah?" Her voice was a little huskier, a little breathier.

Pulling her hair to the side, I ran my nose along the skin of her neck. She always smelled so fucking good, even in the middle of the desert. I nipped her earlobe and whispered, "Come with me," then trailed my hands down her chest, teasing her nipples through the light fabric of her shirt, enjoying the way they stiffened in response.

She craned her head to the side and looked at me. "Seriously?"

I held her gaze and nodded. "We could both use the R & R, and you can get yourself all the massages you want while I'm rock climbing."

She turned and straddled my lap. "I'll go with you," she said as she rolled her hips, grinding against me slowly.

I smiled and kissed her.

She broke it off. "On one condition."

I quirked a brow at her in question.

"You teach me to rock climb."

I threw my head back and laughed. "You got it, beautiful."

Then we sealed the deal the way we did best, amongst the dust and boxes on the floor, with the sounds of traffic and people outside. Soft skin slid against mine, and wet mouths left pink marks that faded almost as quickly as they surfaced. Muscles burned and stretched, pushing and pulling, and soon soft skin became slippery with sweat. There were hands everywhere, touching and teasing, pinching and soothing. Nails gauged and scratched, before palms rubbed and soothed. Fingers found their way into giving, yielding softness, and then she came and came and came, and I followed, tumbling headlong into an abyss I didn't know was there.

And then those days in Thailand.

Teaching her to climb the cliffs in Krabi and at Railay Beach, watching her eyes take in the view as we hung sixty meters above the water, the excitement she exuded, the way it turned her on, all I could do was roll with it. We climbed the rocks, and we splashed in the clear, shallow water, and when the beach was quiet, we fucked on the soft, warm sand, the towering limestone cliffs watching us in the distance.

I also watched when the _yant_ master applied the _mai sak_ , or tattoing stick, to her lower back and imprinted her skin with a tiger design and sacred _yant_. Her eyes glazed over as she entered into a trance-like state, and I watched something pass over or through her, as the master blew the sacred blessings into her skin, imbuing the tattoo with magic, and imparting to her the strength and fearlessness of the tiger.

I didn't think she needed it. She was plenty strong and fearless in her own right.

Two days later we went our separate ways again, and I forced thoughts of her from my mind as I focused on the job Aro needed me to complete. It was quite a nasty piece of work, and it effectively kept my mind occupied. As it was, Bella and I wound up not seeing each other for three months after that.

Still, when we were together again, that next time in Afghanistan and the time after that in China, I should have recognized my pleasure at seeing her for what it was, but I didn't. We picked up where we left off, falling into our routine with ease; using sex to run off our nervous energy and digging deep within ourselves for courage to do what no one else would.

We continued like that, the _whatever_ it was that I refused to recognize becoming a constant in my life, something I hadn't realized I depended on. Sometimes the jobs were easy, sometimes they were just frustrating and tedious, but every once in a while they were outright treacherous, and those times . . . those times, after we got back, we fell on each other like a pair of wild things. It would be raw and primal, occasionally bordering on violent, but always exceptional and satisfying beyond measure, because we were riding high on adrenalin and a sudden lust for life that the day-to-day of our existence couldn't even comprehend, no less generate.

Bella made me feel alive in a way that no life or death situation could.

When we hit the IED on the road to Kabul, everything coalesced with stunning clarity, and the realization that I was in love with Bella was like a punch to the gut. As it was, the guilt I'd felt every time we were together devastated me, shredding my memories of Maria and Peter, eating at the vestiges of what I clung to. Acknowledging that I loved Bella tore at me further, and seeing Colonel Grant was like rubbing salt into those wounds.

Then there was what Emmett told me, about Bella and Carlisle, and I understood that I had no idea what she felt for me, if anything. Of course, she had no idea how I felt either, but I didn't like floundering in the dark; it went against my nature not to know. Sure, the business I was in required flexibility to circumstances and an ability to improvise and act outside the parameters of my assignment, but I still went in to those situations armed with the latest intel.

With Bella, I had no clue what was going on in her head, or her heart.

I leaned against the wall outside the hospital and took a last pull on my cigarette. I was crushing it out when Emmett came barreling out the door.

 _Fuck_.

All my fears, my terror at losing Bella hit me like a punch to the gut. "What's wrong?"

Emmett spun around. "Jasper? Oh, man, nothing's wrong, it's all good. She's waking up. I have to go tell Edward."

And then he was off, running toward Fisher House, and I was running into the hospital.

I nearly wrenched the door to her room off the hinge, and skidded to a halt. Rose was standing near the foot of Bella's bed, nervously chewing on her thumb, while a doctor and nurse were tending to Bella. Her eyes were still closed, but her brows were furrowed and her hand kept knocking the oxygen tube out of her nose, while the nurse patiently put it back.

"Bella." I heard the doctor say. "Bella, open your eyes. I need you to try to open your eyes now."

I walked over to Rose, and she grabbed my hand, hard. Without taking my eyes off of Bella, I asked, "What happened?"

"She squeezed my hand. Right after you left the room. She squeezed my hand."

I tried real hard not to read anything into it, not to believe that Bella woke up because I told her I loved her, but my brain kept going there.

Then again, maybe it was my heart.

"That's it, Bella. Hey there," the doctor said as we watched her blink several times, before slowly opening her eyes.

For the next several minutes Rose and I just stood there, watching as the doctor and nurse went about their business. He shined a light in her eyes, and they checked her vitals. Then he started asking her questions. What was her name? Did she know where she was? Did she remember what happened?

As she began answering, her voice a little rough, hoarse, the door opened, and knew it was Emmett and Edward. I could feel Rose tense, and Emmett's stress. I was aware of Edward, his presence. Like a lodestone, the room's energy gravitated to him. Bella's eyes snapped to him.

To him.

Rose let go of my hand as Emmett came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. Her hands gripped his arms as she took her comfort, support, from him. My empty hand flexed once, twice, and then I gripped my belt loops, my fingers seeking purchase, purpose.

I looked down at my feet, afraid to see what might be in her eyes. And then I looked up again, because while I was many, many things in my lifetime—soldier, lover, husband, father, idealist, realist, killer—I wasn't a coward. My father once told me that any fool could be brave, could be fearless, only a truly courageous man acted despite his fear.

So I dragged my eyes back up. Back up to where her toes rose from the mattress, cocooned in the strange mauve all hospital blankets seemed to be dyed in. Back up to where the cross-hatched pattern of the cotton folded over itself as it exposed her knees, and the doctor examined her reflexes. My eyes traveled to where the check marked fabric of her hospital gown covered her pale flesh, and where the dip and rise of her hips distorted the lay of the fabric. I continued remapping her, enjoying the sight of her chest moving up and down with the effort of speaking, as opposed to the barely there rise and fall of the previous week.

The smooth skin of her neck was blocked from my view as the doctor reached across her, but then he stood up, and my eyes made the journey over the pulse point there—the one I loved to run my tongue over, the one that made her squirm and moan—and I watched as it leapt, then fluttered, revealing her racing pulse, at least to those of us keen enough to notice, until I finally covered the last inches and settled on her eyes.

But they weren't looking at Edward.

They were looking at me.

I could hear Rose and Bella's doctor talking; words like _rest_ , _recovery_ , _post-traumatic stress_ , and _therapy_ rang in my ears, but I couldn't tear my eyes from her.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, but the room fell silent.

I nodded. "It's only a flesh wound," I joked.

She gave a small snort and a smile, and then she sobbed and her hand flew to her mouth. "I," she shook her head. "I . . ." Tears slid down her cheeks, and my feet moved of their own accord.

I heard Rose's voice behind me—"Don't, Edward."—but paid it no mind.

Instead, I sat at the edge of the bed and brushed the tears from Bella's cheeks. The back of my fingers ran over silky skin and I whispered, "It's okay, beautiful. It's okay. We're okay."

Her sobs subsided, and her voice was shaky as she said, "There was so much blood. You had so much blood on you."

I shook my head. "Mostly yours."

"It was you wasn't it?" she asked.

"Me what?"

"You called me 'Bella,'" she continued. "It's a little confusing." Her brow furrowed. "Why did you call me that?"

I grinned. "It's who you are. Who you _really_ are. And I needed to make sure you stayed with me."

"Oh." She looked up, and I followed her gaze to where it settled on Edward. "Why are you here?" Her voice was curiously devoid of emotion and I didn't know if it meant she was containing her anger at him, or trying not to show how thrilled she was.

But before he could answer, Rose interrupted, throwing herself at Bella and trying to hold her without hurting her. "Don't you ever do that to me again," she demanded. And then they were both sobbing and hugging each other, and Emmett's hand was on my shoulder.

"Let's give them a few minutes."

I nodded and rose, kissing Bella on the head before walking out. Emmett had his hand on Edward's elbow, guiding him out. Edward looked . . . deflated. We all walked into the hallway and stood around haplessly, helplessly.

Suddenly Edward sagged against the wall, and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

"You okay, man?" Emmett asked.

Edward nodded. "Yeah, just . . . she's awake. She's awake," he said. His voice broke as he spoke and I could see the shine of tears in his eyes.

Emmett grinned. "Yeah, she is." He looked over at me. "You okay?"

I smiled. "Is that a trick question?"

Emmett began to laugh, so did I, and after a moment, so did Edward.

And that's how Rose found us a couple of minutes later, clutching our stomachs and laughing, sharing a strange camaraderie of relief and happiness, hopefulness and utter confusion. I didn't delude myself into thinking that Edward would back off, or that we were suddenly friends, but we did share one common goal: making sure Bella was okay.

It was something at least.

Edward scrambled to his feet when Rose came out, but she waved him off. "She's asleep."

"Wait, didn't she just wake up?" Emmett asked.

"The doctor said it was normal, that people who come out of a coma sleep quite a bit at first, but it will pass."

My phone rang at that moment. I looked at the screen. _Aro_.

"I have to take this." I walked away from them, toward the exit, and answered. "Whitlock."

"Hello, Jasper. How are you?"

"Fine, sir."

"Good. How's our girl?"

"Awake."

"Excellent. That is good news."

"Yes, sir."

"I have a job for you."

I hesitated.

"Jasper, this is something uniquely suited to your talents. I want you on this."

The tone of Aro's voice brooked no argument, and while I didn't work directly for him, I also knew that I couldn't afford to antagonize him.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. "Send me the details. You know how and where."

Aro chuckled. "The money has already been wired to your account, and there will be an envelope waiting for you at . . ."

Eight hours later, I was on a flight to Kinshasa. As I sipped my drink, I thought about my goodbye with Bella. After my conversation with Aro, I went to pack my bag, before returning to Bella's room.

Rose, Emmett, and Edward were all there, and it took one look at my bag for Rose to ask, "Are you leaving?"

I nodded. "Just wanted to come say goodbye."

Edward snorted. "So that's it?"

I didn't even bother to look at him, but said, "Some of us actually have to work for a living."

"Guys," Emmett cut in. "That's enough."

I saw Rose squeeze his hand, a silent thank you.

"Thank you, Jasper. For everything." She stood up and gave me a hug.

"Anytime." I pulled back and looked at her. "I mean that. Anytime you need me."

"Okay," she said.

"Do you mind if I have a minute with her?"

"No. I need to get something to eat anyway." She turned. "Emmett? Edward?"

Edward opened his mouth to say something, but at a growled, "Not now," from Rose he held his tongue and stalked out of the room.

Emmett stood up and walked up to me. "Don't disappear again, man."

"I won't," I told him.

"I'm serious," he responded.

"So am I. I have a reason not to."

He nodded, and then he and Rose walked out of the room.

I sat down in the chair next to the bed and picked up Bella's hand. "Hey there, beautiful."

I watched as her eyelids fluttered and then opened.

"Hey," she said. Her voice was thick with sleep.

I reached out a hand and brushed the hair from her forehead. "It's really good to see you awake. You scared the shit out of everyone."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Just don't do it again."

She laughed, then grimaced in pain. "I'll do my best."

"You're hurting."

"Only when I laugh," she joked. At my serious expression she said, "Seriously, Jasper, I'm fine. They've got me loaded up on Percocet or something. Really, it only hurts when I move too much or laugh. How about you?" She nodded at my shoulder.

"It's fine. A few stitches, but nothing serious."

"Good."

"Bella—"

"It's really weird hearing you call me that."

I chuckled. "Can't really put the toothpaste back in the tube now, can I?"

"I guess not." She smiled at me and I felt my heart constrict.

"Bella, I'm heading out."

"I'm surprised you stuck around as long as you did."

I cupped her face with my hand. "Needed to make sure you were alright."

"I will be."

"I know."

"I'm going home in two days."

"Good," I said. "Good. Hospitals suck."

She snickered and then hit my arm. "Stop making me laugh."

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay! I'm done."

The room grew quiet, and we just stared at each other. "So," she began.

"I shouldn't be longer than four days."

"Okay," she said, but it sounded like a question.

"I want to come see you when I'm done."

"You want to come to Chicago? I thought you hated the States."

I shrugged. "I guess I have a good enough reason now."

"Jasper, I—"

"Shh," I said as I placed a finger over her lips. "Don't. Let's just see what happens, okay? You've got a lot to deal with. That's what you should focus on, alright?"

She nodded.

I leaned forward and kissed her, savoring the feel of her mouth against mine, and the taste of her.

"In this life or the next," she whispered.

"Yeah."

I stood to leave and she stopped me.

"Jasper, what happened to my things? Did anything make it?"

I took a breath and nodded. "Yeah. A few things did."

"My laptop?"

I shook my head.

"But the flash drive did," I told her.

She smiled. "Oh good. Where is it?"

Shit.

I could have said that I gave it to Rose. It would have been the truth, if not all the truth, but I couldn't do that. I had to be honest with her. "Edward has it."

"What?"

"Don't be too angry, Bella. Just . . . just talk to Rose. Please?"

I took another sip of my drink, and tried to put thoughts of Bella away. The job I was doing for Aro was tricky, and I needed to get my head in the game. I was of no use to anyone dead.

I rarely did wet work anymore, but agreed to on occasion. Not so much for the money, although it did pay better than most of the other jobs, but because if Aro wanted someone taken out, the world was a better place for it. Sure, I was making moral equivocations, working for a man like Aro in the first place, but I justified it with the good I was able to do as a result. If it was true that the road to hell was paved with good intentions, I was going to be sent there with a first class ticket.

The job went without a hitch, and four days later I was on a flight to Chicago. It would be the first time I'd been to the States in years, and I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't nervous. I knew my former bosses would be wondering what I was doing there, and I was pretty sure they'd send someone, probably Jake, to check up on me, but there was nothing to be done about that. I sure as hell wasn't going to wait however many months it would take before Bella was healed and ready to go back out into the field, if she ever did again, before I saw her.

I landed at O'Hare and grabbed a cab, directing the driver to the Congress Plaza hotel on Michigan Avenue. I'd always loved the historical hotel; the rooms were spacious, and it was comfortable and luxurious, without being gaudy.

It reminded me of Bella—elegant and classy, strong and enduring.

I was missing her, badly. In the past, I'd always been able to put her out of mind when we weren't working together, or at least I was able not to dwell and fixate on her. But it was like the realization that I loved her opened the flood gates, and I couldn't step back from it. She permeated my thoughts, and I'd had to consciously force myself to stay on task when I was in the Congo.

As soon as I checked in and settled into my room, I called her, but only got her voicemail. I left a message, but when I still hadn't heard from her by later that evening, I called Rose.

"Hey Rose, it's Jasper."

"Hey, Jasper." She sounded terrible.

"What's wrong? Shit, is she okay?" Fear wove its way through my insides, squeezing my guts, stealing my breath. If anything had happened to her . . .

"No, Jasper, nothing like that. She's fine."

"Then what—"

"She's not talking to me, and she probably won't want to talk to you either. She's really fucking pissed off."

I sighed. "The journal?"

"Yeah."

"We knew that was a risk, Rose. She'll come around."

"I know, but she's completely ignoring me. She's staying in her room, refusing to let me in. She's talking to Tanya and Alice, but not me."

I swallowed. "What about—"

"Not him either," she replied.

After a minute she continued. "No need to be so smug about it."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't need to."

I let out a huff of air. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"Nah. I just know how I'd feel if I were in your shoes."

"I'd like to try and see her."

"I think you should, just . . . just don't expect too much, okay?"

We chatted for a few more minutes. She told me that she was still seeing Emmett, and that he would want to see me while I was in town, so I told her I would call him after we hung up. As we made our goodbyes I said, "And Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For giving me a chance. I know you have a history with Edward. I know it would be easier if—"

"Jasper, I've spent the last seven years watching my sister fall apart and then piece herself back together. I want to see her happy again, and if it's with you," the unsaid _or someone else_ hung there for a moment, before she continued, "well, then I'm all for it. You seem like a good man, Jasper. Emmett says you're a good man. I hope for Bella's sake, for all our sakes, that you are."

There wasn't much to say after that, so we hung up, and then I called Emmett.

After a few pleasantries, he jumped right in. "The two of you are idiots, you know that, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"You and Rose. You're idiots. I mean, I get what you thought you might be doing, but Jesus, how did you think she'd react? Hell, I barely know the girl, and I'm angry for her."

Then I heard him muttering under his breath. I thought he said, "First Edward's hair brained ideas, then yours," but I couldn't be sure.

"I knew she'd be mad," I told him. "But I think it's worth it."

"Why?" he asked. "What's in it for you?"

I laughed, and I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't bitter. "I'm not sure. I think part of me hoped he'd give up if he knew how bad it was," I told him. "But really? I want her to be happy, Em. She deserves that, and if that piece of—"

"Easy, Whitlock, he's still my friend."

"Sorry. If _Edward_ , can make her happy, well . . ."

"Damn it, Jasper. Why you gotta go and be a good guy?"

"Emmett," I said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not a good guy."

"Jasper."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, you are."

I wasn't going to debate the finer points of my morality with Emmett, so I let it go, and after we spoke for a few more minutes, I agreed to meet him for breakfast in the morning.

From what I gathered from my conversation with Emmett the next day, Alice and Tanya were both staying at the house, as was Rose, even if Bella was refusing to speak to her. He also let me know that Alice was a force of nature, grilling him for thirty minutes on everything from how he felt about Rose, to his political views, whether he wore boxers or briefs, and even what product he used in his hair.

"Tanya, though," he said. "She's scary. She kept eyeing me like I was one mistake away from being gelded." He shuddered.

So it was dumb luck that both Alice and Tanya were out when I arrived at the house, and the door was opened by Rose.

"Hey you," she said, pulling me into a hug. She looked tired, and sad. It was obvious that the rift between her and Bella was eating her up.

"Hey yourself," I replied.

"I'll tell her you're here, but I don't know if she'll even acknowledge that I said anything."

"Don't," I told her. "Just point me to her room."

"Jesus, Jasper, she's pissed off enough."

"Well then, what do I have to lose?" When she didn't budge, I said, "It isn't working your way either, so let me try."

"Fine. But it's your funeral."

Rose showed me which room was Bella's and I quietly turned the knob and opened the door. I heard the shower running in the adjacent bathroom, so I waited for her. I looked around, and decided the room suited her to a T. It was luxurious, without being pretentious, warm and comfortable, without losing style.

The pictures that decorated the open surfaces were all of her family. I recognized her parents from press clippings I'd seen, as well as Rose, and I surmised from what both she and Emmett told me, that the small brunette was Alice and the beautiful, but withdrawn looking strawberry blond, was Tanya. A few of the pictures, from when they were children, had Edward in them as well. He had a haunted look in his eyes as a child, but there was one when they were teenagers, and all of them were laughing, including Edward, but his eyes were Bella, looking at her like she was the reason the sun rose and set each day.

I heard the bathroom door open, and turned to look at her. My heart skipped a little at the sight of her. She was still a little pale, a little thin, but it was a far cry from how she looked five days earlier. Her hair was wet and dark, and her silk robe clung to her like a second skin, revealing every curve.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jasper!"

"Hey there, beautiful."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, but before I could answer she continued, "No. You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know. Just get out."

"No."

"No?"

"No. You may have managed to shut Rose out, but you're not going to shut me out." In two strides I was across the room and in front of her.

"Jas—"

I cut her off with a kiss, my hands grabbing her face and holding her still. Her hands moved to mine, at first trying to pry them off, but then sliding to my forearms, where she held on as she returned the kiss.

When we finally broke apart, I kept my hands on her face, my thumbs stroking across her cheeks.

"Damn it, Jasper. I'm still mad at you."

"That's okay, darlin'. As long as you're talking to me, I can deal with it."

She stepped back and sat on her bed, wincing slightly.

"Your stitches?"

"It's fine," she replied, gritting her teeth.

"Don't piss—"

"In your ear and tell you that it's raining. Yeah, yeah. You need some new material, Whitlock."

I grinned at her. "Let me take a look."

"Trying to get me naked?"

"Now hush up and let me see."

She untied her robe and leaned back on her elbows, revealing her stomach and everything else. I had to remind myself that I was there to talk to her and, that in any event, she was in no condition for sex, but the sight of her skin, her breasts, heated my blood.

The stitches seemed fine. "Did you get them wet?"

She shook her head. "I had plastic taped over them."

"Good girl. I think they're okay, but you need to take it easy."

"I'm f—"

"Should I call Tanya in here?" Emmett had told me how seriously she was taking Bella's recovery.

Bella blanched. "No. No. I'm sitting." She scooted up on the bed and leaned against the pillows. "See? Sitting."

I laughed.

"What are you laughing at, smart ass? She finds you in here and you can kiss your ass goodbye," she joked. At least, I hoped she was joking.

I sat at the edge of the bed and looked at her. "Bella, I know you're pissed at me, at us, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

She looked incredulous. "In what world would that have been the right thing to do?"

I stood up and paced, my fists unconsciously clenching and unclenching. "In a world where we weren't sure you were going to survive, no less wake up. In a world where him showing up threw you for a complete loop, no matter how much you try to deny his effect on you. In a world where I want you to be mine, but I also want you to be happy so I'd willingly give him what he needs to do that, if he's what you wanted. In a world where I love you so fucking much that nearly losing you made me stop thinking straight!"

I was breathing heavy by the time I was done, and Bella's eyes just kept getting wider and wider.

"Well, shit," she said. "When did this all get so complicated?"

I choked out a bitter laugh. "Well, I guess that's my answer then."


	22. Chapter 22

_I want you_   
_I want you to define me, to define me_   
_I want you I want you to define me, define me_   
_I want you I want you to define me, define me_   
_I want you I want you to define me_

_Driven by their beating hearts_   
_Their hearts_   
_Driven by their beating hearts_   
_Their hearts_

A Silent Film - "Driven By Their Beating Hearts" _  
_

* * *

"Alice, I don't want to talk about it anymore!"

"You're being unreasonable, Bella."

" _I'm_ being unreasonable?" She'd been badgering me for two weeks to talk to Edward, to listen to what he had to say. "He disappears for seven years, without a word, and now _I'm_ being unreasonable? Fuck you, Alice."

"You nearly died, Bella. Everything is different now!"

"How is it different?" I shouted. "Did what happened to me undo those seven years? Because nothing changes that, Alice!" I turned to Tanya. "Tell me you don't agree with Alice."

Tanya took a breath, blew it out, and then spoke quietly. "I do."

"Tanya!" I was sure she'd be on my side.

"Bella," she continued. "I can't imagine what it was like for you. The three of us saw what it did to you, and Edward hurt _all_ of us when he left, but he wasn't _my_ soulmate. I don't know what I would do if Alice ever disappeared like that."

Alice's hand gripped Tanya's. "I never would," she said urgently.

Tanya kissed Alice's hand where it joined hers. "I know, baby." She turned back to me. "Like I said, I don't know how I would deal with it, but I do know that I'd want answers, that I'd want closure."

I let out a gust of air and sank down on the couch, deflated, wincing only a little at the ache in my side.

"You can't ask me to do this," I said, hating the tremble in my voice. "It was . . . it was so hard to move past it, past him. You say you can't imagine what it's like? It was like having my chest hollowed out with a spoon, and that was on a good day. It took a long time for it stop hurting, to heal. I won't go through that again."

Tanya untangled herself from Alice, leaned forward, and took my hands in hers. "Bella, I hate to break it to you, but you never healed, and you haven't stopped hurting, not really. You just stuck a band-aid over the wound, but it's festering. Now, it's time to clean it out and let it heal properly."

"I've made a new life for myself. Why can't you two see that?"

Alice's answer was slow, thoughtful. "Yes, you have, but it's not entirely yours, is it? Every time you get on a plane, you're running from him. Every time you hook up with someone else, you're trying to erase him from your memory, and every time you risk your life, a little part of you is hoping you don't make it. Because if you die doing . . . whatever the hell it is you're doing, it's not your fault, is it? That it'll somehow be easier on the rest of us if you don't pull the trigger yourself, that we'll forgive you."

I gaped at her.

"Well, we won't, Bella. At least I won't. Not for those reasons."

I got up and stalked over to the bar.

"Bella! It's eleven in the morning!"

My hands shook as I poured the vodka, then the tomato juice. "It's a Bloody Mary, Tanya. You're supposed to have them with brunch, right?"

"And your pain meds?"

I snorted. "I haven't taken them in three days. I'm fine."

Tanya's hand fell on my shoulder, causing me to spill some of my drink. God, I hated when she snuck up on me like that. She'd always moved quietly, like she was stalking prey. The early years of her life inured her to keeping quiet, to remaining unnoticed and hidden—a defense mechanism.

"Bella," Alice interjected. "Just talk to him." Her small arms wrapped around my waist, and I felt her cheek rest against my back.

I shook my head. "I can't. Please, don't make me."

Alice squeezed a little tighter.

"You can do this, Bella. You're the bravest person I know."

I snorted in response.

I wasn't brave, not really. Alice was right; everything I'd done was a form of running away. But it worked for me. Maybe I wasn't turning and facing my pain head on, but I had made something of my life. The work I did was dangerous; I couldn't act as if it wasn't. I couldn't pretend that the excitement wasn't something I craved, but it was also important work. It was important to me, and it sure as hell was important to the people I helped. What I did may have been helping me deal with my pain, mask it, or ignore it, but it wasn't the only reason I did it.

Still, maybe Alice and Tanya were right. Perhaps I needed to confront Edward, to get answers—to understand why and how he could do what he did, and how he could just throw us away. To know where he had been, and why he came back when he did. I just didn't know if I was ready for it, for him. I was still reeling over the conversation I had with Jasper just after my return home.

When Jasper told me he loved me, it was like having ice water thrown on me. I was shocked. The same Jasper who was all hard edges and tough exterior, who did violent things I couldn't conceive of, who had lost everything and, like me, taken great pains to make sure he could never be hurt like that again— _that_ Jasper told me he loved me, loved me to the point of irrationality.

It's not that I didn't believe he could love someone. Despite his rough demeanor, I knew him better than the surface he presented. He was the man who risked everything we worked for to save one little girl, the man who tended to an abused woman's wounds with a compassion and care that would put many doctors to shame. He was the man who made sure the babies had medicine, that little girls had books to read, and that young boys had food to eat. The man who, despite our rough and tumble sex life, touched me with respect and tenderness, and treated me as an equal.

Still, for all those things, the fact that he had allowed himself to love again was a shock. That he loved _me_ was an even bigger shock. It wasn't what we were supposed to be about, but I couldn't lie to myself and say that Jasper hadn't created a bigger place in my life than I ever intended. Somehow we'd crossed several lines; from partners to lovers, from lovers to friends, from friends to . . . something more.

I didn't know how to react to Jasper's declaration, quipping instead that things had gotten complicated. His reaction wasn't what I expected.

"Well, I guess that's my answer then," he'd said and turned to leave.

"Jasper!"

His hand was on the doorknob.

"Jasper, please, don't go."

I walked over to him. His back was still to me, and my hands hovered for a moment, unsure if, or where, I should touch him. Finally, I set them on his shoulders, feeling him tense and then relax at the contact.

"Please, stay. We need to talk about this."

He snorted, but turned around to face me. "What's there to talk about, Bella?"

"Don't be an ass, Jasper. In case you didn't notice, while you were busy having your emotional epiphany, I was pretending to be broccoli. I'm a little bit behind the times here, so can we just sit down and talk?"

Jasper cracked a smile and brushed his knuckles across my cheek. "Alright, darlin'. We'll do it your way."

I led him over to the small sofa under the window and sat down, tugging his hand until he sat as well.

"How long?" I asked.

He chuckled.

"What?"

"Your sister asked me the same thing at the hospital in Bagram."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I wasn't sure and hadn't realized it until that IED went off."

"I don't understand."

Another soft laugh escaped him. "What part of it don't you get exactly?" He placed a finger under my chin and forced me to look at him. "I love you. It doesn't get any simpler than that."

I jerked my head from him grip. "It's not that simple, Jasper! Nothing about this, nothing about me or you or what we do is simple! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Anxiety was clawing its way up through my gut and into my chest, making it difficult to breathe, to think. Jasper's words were making me feel things that I hadn't felt in years, made me think about things I swore I would never think of again.

"Right, because life is predictable, Bella." Jasper's voice was thick with hurt and sarcasm. "Why don't you just admit why this is really throwing you for a loop? Why don't you admit it's because of _him_. Because of Edward. It all comes back to him, doesn't it? He shows up again and now you're 'confused' and life is 'complicated.' Well fuck that, Bella!"

Jasper stood up and started pacing. His hands were clenching and unclenching, something I'd noticed he did when he was trying to control himself.

"Jasper, this isn't about Ed—"

"Oh the hell it isn't, Bella!"

He fell to his knees in front of me, cupping my face with one hand. "Don't you see? Before he came back, we made sense. I felt the difference at Marwand's, you know I did. All of this is about him, and that's the really fucked up part, because if it weren't for him I never would have met you in the first place."

I placed a hand over his, still cupping my face, and let it trail down the side of his. "Jasper, this isn't about Edward," I told him quietly. "Or, not entirely about him. I never wanted to fall in love again, Jasper. I don't want to be hurt like that again. _That's_ why we made sense, or part of the reason at any rate."

"But?"

"I won't lie to you." I laughed a little. "Not that I could if I tried, you always read me like a book."

He smiled a little at that.

"You make me _feel_ things, Jasper. Things I've tried to ignore, to wave away. I don't know what those things mean. I'm not even sure I _can_ love someone again. But . . . but I do know that I don't want to let go of you yet either."

I let my lids slide closed. I didn't want to look into his eyes, unable to take the depth of emotion that was being laid bare there.

Shaking my head I said, "It's not fair of me. I know it's not—"

Jasper cut me off with a kiss, soft at first, tentative and questioning. It turned into something else, something more passionate, with hints of desperation and need, but lacking the feral intensity of our past.

Pressing his forehead against mine he said, "Just tell me that you haven't already chosen him. I know I said that I'd bow out gracefully, and I will if he's who you want, but—"

"Jasper, why would you think I'd choose him? I don't even want to see him!" I pushed him back a bit. "He chose to leave my life; he doesn't get to choose how he comes back into it."

"As much as I wish that were true, you can't just pretend he isn't here."

Not wanting to talk about Edward anymore, I kissed Jasper. I planned to show Jasper just how well I could pretend Edward wasn't there; that Edward wasn't closing in on the edges of my mind, my heart. Letting my robe slide open, I stretched up and tangled my hands in his hair, pulling him down to my mouth.

As far as distractions went, I thought it was pretty good one.

Jasper's hand slid to the back of my neck and gripped me tight as his lips moved against mine. For a few minutes everything fell away—Edward, the accident, Jasper's past, mine, the future—and the only thing left was us. While one hand pinned me in place, the other traced the contours of my body, light, gentle, soft touches and teasing caresses. My head fell back and my hips pushed forward, pressing me against his stomach.

Breaking the kiss, Jasper whispered, "As much as I'd love to, you're still recovering." He pulled back, his thumb tracing my lips. "And don't think I don't know you were trying to distract me, but that's okay. You're a big girl, Bella. You'll handle this the way you think is best."

He left shortly after, refusing to take things any further and laughing at me when I huffed in annoyance. It was irritating, the limitations my injuries caused. I couldn't wait until I got the all clear and could get back to work.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts of Jasper and took a long swallow of my drink.

Edward. I didn't want to see Edward. I didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to smell him, or touch him, or hear his excuses and explanations. I didn't want to feel that connection, that pulsing cadence that I felt every time he was around. I, most certainly, didn't want to give him a chance to become part of my life again, although I wasn't sure that could be stopped, not if my sisters accepted him back into their lives.

But if I were really honest with myself, I didn't want to risk feeling _anything_ for him again, because Jasper had been right about one thing: everything always came back to Edward for me, and I hated that. Edward and I had been tattooed on each other's souls when we were children, and he would forever be a part of me, I just didn't know what part I was willing to share anymore.

"I'll think about it, Alice. That's all I can give you, give him right now, okay?"

Alice hugged me a bit more then let go. "I know you'll do the right thing," she said.

It was odd how much her thoughts mirrored Jasper's.

I spent the next two days wandering around the house and reconnecting with my sisters, but I was restless and indecisive. Jasper visited each day, he and Tanya circling each other like a pair of wary cats. He was convinced she didn't like him. I told him she was like a Sabra fruit—prickly and tenacious on the outside, but sweet and tender inside. He just needed to be patient.

Finally, I decided to read my mother's journals, see if there were any words of wisdom she could still impart to me. I'd never been able to bring myself to read them before, but I really needed my mom. I needed her unique perspective on the world, her calm, her unconditional love, and her way of making someone do the right thing, without actually telling them to. My sisters all had bits and pieces of that, but at the end of the day, sometimes you just want your mommy.

It was with a tentative hand that I reached for those first volumes. I sat on the sofa in the library, sinking into its downy comfort and covered my legs with a throw. Fidgeting as I tried to find a comfortable position, only to realize that my actions screamed _avoidance_. Desperate for her words and comfort, but scared of what I would find, I held the book in my hands. Fingers trembling, I opened it and began to cry as I saw the familiar, looping script splayed across the pages. I missed her so much.

Soon, however, I became engrossed in her stories. I didn't follow any chronological order, sometimes skipping ahead, and sometimes grabbing a new volume, needing to grasp onto any and all of her: young and older, single and married, girl and mother. It was awkward at times to read about my parents, about their first kiss or first fight. I pointedly flipped the pages when my mother began to describe their more intimate moments, but one thing that shined through, even as I skimmed those early years, was their deep and abiding love for one another.

It was endearing to read about my father from her perspective. He'd always been a quiet man, who exuded an air of strength and calm that perfectly balanced my mother's more artistic and gregarious personality. My father always seemed so sure of himself, composed and elegant. Yet, my mother's descriptions of his early bumbling and fumbling, his stuttered words and admissions of love, and his nearly disastrous marriage proposal, all had me laughing. I couldn't help but wonder what else there was to discover about him, what else had we all lost on that fateful night.

What stunned me the most, however, was learning about the events surrounding my birth. My parents had never told me how close my mother came to dying, or that she was unable to carry children again as a result. Not wanting me to feel guilty, they'd always told me that they decided to foster or adopt because there were girls, like Rose, Tanya, and Alice, who needed good homes, and needed to be loved and cared for. I realized instead that it was because my mother had always wanted a houseful of children.

I learned how devastated my mother was by her inability to give my father a son, and how that was the reason he insisted that they only foster girls – to prove to her that it didn't matter to him at all. Her words also helped me understand the strength and resolve she managed to impart to Rose, and I wondered if Rose knew the truth. I began to understand better how Mom gave us each what she thought we needed.

The most painful part of reading through Mom's journals, was reading about Edward. Seen through her eyes, memories of him brought a level of hurt that I hadn't expected. The intensity with which she loved him, like he was one of her own, the way she feared for him when we were young, and even as we got older, it was hard not to get caught up in it.

I'd thought about those years often enough, relived them in my dreams and waking nightmares. I had committed them to paper myself, examining them and analyzing them, when nothing made sense. But Mom saw him in a different light than I did, she saw _us_ in a different light, and her words brought those days to life in stunning and visceral detail. Detail that was so unlike my recall of those events, as to make me pause and wonder at times: were we talking about the same people?

_I remember watching a movie in my astronomy class in college. It was about the different types of stars in the universe. There was a section on binary stars, and what I found fascinating were that over time some binaries shared matter through gravitational pull, and reached levels of evolution that single stars never could._

_That is how I see Bella and Edward. They feed off of each other. Each of them giving and taking what they need, and each becoming something together that neither of them could be alone. Bella buns so brightly when she is with him, and Edward's erratic orbit is tamed in her gravitational pull. They are beautiful to watch._

_I wonder if they realize yet what they are to each other._

I shut the book on those early days, unable to keep seeing Edward and myself through her eyes. Even then, even when we were children, she knew. It wasn't just a _becoming_. It wasn't just a give and take; it was a symbiosis, an instinctive and primal need to merge ourselves together, one we were too young to understand, but helpless to avoid.

Randomly flipping pages, I stumbled across an entry that made me pay attention. It was a night some twenty years ago. A night when a party was held at our house, and where Mom made a point to mention two guests: Carlisle and Esme Cullen.

The story Carlisle relayed to me, about Mom and Esme having a falling out shortly after that party, came to mind and I began to flip the pages of the journal, hoping to find an entry. Several weeks of entries later, I found it, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps across the dark, mahogany floors.

I looked up to find Edward standing in front of me, and cursed my body for being a traitor. As soon as my eyes landed on his, I could feel my heart speed into double time and my fingers itch to touch his hair and feel his skin. The _awareness_ of him within me that existed whenever he was present began a subtle susurration that hummed just beneath my skin and through my veins. It called out to me, a siren's song, pulling at me, drawing me to him.

And damn him, but he looked good. Really good. He'd filled out, become a man in the true sense of the word, not the post-adolescent man-child who left seven years before. Always lean, Edward still had a runner's body, but whereas once he been thin and a little gangly, he'd grown into his frame, his muscles becoming firm and taut, well defined.

"Bella," my name came out in a woosh of air, rushed, as if he thought I'd bolt the moment he appeared. He wasn't too far off the mark, but I had promised Alice I'd try to listen to him and keeping my promises was always important to me. The preceding seven years had only cemented that in my psyche.

"Bella," he repeated, then shuffled awkwardly, unsure what to say next. "Can I . . . can I sit?" he asked, glancing at the space near me on the couch.

I gestured to the nearby easy chair instead, not wanting him any closer than necessary. "Sure."

His brow creased for a moment, but a look of resignation erased it and he sat in the chair, or rather, at the edge of the chair, uneasy and uncomfortable.

"I . . . uh, shit," he reached into his pocket and pulled his hand back out. "Umm, this is for you. I mean it's yours. I, shit," he said again as he opened his hand. There, in his palm, sat my flash drive.

My fingers clenched and opened as I suppressed the urge to snatch it from his hand, afraid of actually touching him. I was saved from making a decision when he placed it on the small end table next to the chair. An awkward silence descended on the room, until I finally asked if he wanted a drink.

"Sure," he replied. As I made to stand, he said, "No, don't get up; I'll get it."

Pointing to the small wet bar, I began, "There are glasses over—"

"I remember where everything is, Bella," he said softly.

It was on the tip of my tongue to respond with cutting words: _Well, it's been so long, I wasn't sure you remembered;_ or _Since you forgot your forwarding address, I thought maybe you had Alzheimer's;_ or something simple like, _It's just like you to presume that nothing has changed_.

But I didn't. Instead, I waited quietly for my drink, expecting my old favorite: a wine spritzer—yes, a horribly effete choice, but my tastes were mild when I was younger. When Edward handed me the cylindrical shot glass of vodka instead and plunked the bottle down on the table, I quirked an eyebrow at him.

He grinned and shrugged. "Alice may have mentioned your penchant for the Goose."

"I can't help but wonder what else Alice may have mentioned." My eyes shot to the flash drive. "But then again, I suppose there aren't many things she could have told you that you didn't discover for yourself."

Edward had the good grace to blush, hiding it in a large swig of scotch. He walked over to one of the bookcases, and I watched as his fingers, long, graceful fingers, trailed over the spines. "I'd apologize for that, but I'm not really sorry," he said, still facing the books. "I mean, I'm sorry that I invaded your privacy, but not for learning about you." He turned to look at me.

"Rose told me she told you to do it."

"She did," he acceded. "But I didn't have to listen to her." Walking back over, he set the glass down on a coffee table and then stood directly in front of me. "I also won't insult you by telling you that it was altruistic or for your benefit, even if Rose thought it might be or even if it _could_ be."

His eyes bore into mine, a steady, intense gaze that unnerved me. It was so like the young man I used to know, passionate and deep, yet tinged with a weariness that never existed before, and for the first time in years I allowed myself to wonder what he'd done, what had happened to him when he left. Still, I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

He reached out to touch my face and I flinched. "You're not winning any points here by telling me how selfish you were."

Fingers that were a hairsbreadth away from my skin, so close that I could feel the whisper of them, pulled back. Edward sucked in a breath. "I know, but I'm not here to 'win points,' he said, using those long fingers to make air quotes. Then he laughed. "Okay, maybe I'd like to earn a few," he admitted before resuming his seat on the chair. "But the truth is that I'm here because you deserve answers, you deserve the truth about what happened seven years ago and, if you're interested, to know what happened while I was gone."

I shot the vodka down in one go and refilled the glass. Did I want to know? Of course I did. However, it also made me realize that in all the ensuing years since he'd left, a part of me had wanted . . . no, not wanted, believed, that he'd died, because it was the only way to assuage some of the pain of his leaving. The idea that he could have simply left me and not come back, was so indescribably painful, it was easier to assume the worst. If he was dead, that's why he couldn't come back, not because he didn't want to. Not because he didn't want _me_. While I'd never learned the truth about what became of him, _that_ fragile fantasy was shattered the day I stepped into that art show and saw him again.

I was being offered an opportunity to see and understand not only why he left, but why he stayed away. The question was: could I handle it? Could I really sit and listen to him tell me about his seven years away from me. Seven years during which he never once picked up the phone or even sent me a postcard to let me know he was alive. Yet even as these thoughts ran riot through my head, I knew the answer. I would listen.

Because when it came to Edward, I'd always been unable to turn away.


	23. Chapter 23

* * *

_When you pull me in sometimes I almost feel_   
_Pictured in my head, it's just too real_   
_It's gonna be how it is, there's some things you don't change_   
_You're done with telling us of that story_

_How slowly we built up walls_   
_The years they pile on_   
_I will steal you back_   
_It's funny how the smallest lie_   
_Might live a million times_   
_I will steal you back,_

_Here we go, here we go, we'll take on so much pain_   
_To feel secure, not feel anything_   
_I only pick a fight I know I'm sure to lose_   
_So I could I not hold my hope for you._

_I Will Steal You Back -_ Jimmy Eat World

* * *

**EPOV**

"When I went away—"

"You mean when you left me," Bella interrupted. "Don't use euphemisms, Edward. You. Left."

Her voice was flat, but even after all these years there was still so much pain in those words.

"When I left you that day, Bella you have to know it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Right," she said with a soft snort.

"It was the _worst_ day of my life, even worse than losing Charlie and Renee. But I had to do it. I meant what I said in my letter—I needed to become a better man, for you. For both of us."

Bella opened her mouth to say something, but I just kept talking. Afraid, that we'd spend the entire afternoon arguing. Afraid, that I'd never again have the courage to tell her all of it.

"That morning I went to see James." I laughed at the look of surprise on her face. "Yeah, I know, I know, but he was making a nice little profit off fake ID's. I knew that if I used my real name you'd find me, and I wouldn't have the strength to say no to you.

"I bought a new license and a train ticket to Los Angeles. It cost me most of my cash, and by the time I arrived in L.A., I was a cliché—fresh off the train, backpack full of art supplies, twenty dollars to my name, and nowhere to go."

"Wait, wait," Bella interrupted. "We tracked you to Denver and then—"

"No. I gave James my ID when I bought the new one. You tracked someone to Denver, but it wasn't me."

"Well, shit," she replied.

"That first year was really bad. I managed to get a few odd jobs here and there, made enough to buy food sometimes. But mostly I slept in bus stations or the park. The nice thing about L.A. is the weather; it doesn't rain much and in the summer sleeping outside isn't a problem. Sometimes you can find a cot at one of the rescues, but those tend to fill up pretty fast."

"What about your diabetes?"

I shrugged. "The hardest part was getting my insulin and eating right, but there's free clinics, emergency rooms, and some pharmacies will let you buy single vials of insulin if you're broke. Some shelters let you store it in their fridge. You make do, but it wasn't well managed.

"That fall I wound up in the hospital. Some guy decided he wanted my backpack and I fought back. He beat the shit out of me, but I never let go of the backpack. That's when I met Victoria and Diego.

"Diego and I were in the same area in the ER. He got beat up by a trick, but the cops still picked him up for soliciting. I helped him get out of his cuffs and we left together. Vicky and he were together, and they let me tag along when we snuck out. We even found a place together."

"I thought you didn't have money for a place?"

"We didn't. We were squatting. It was pretty sweet for a while, even had electricity until someone remembered to shut it off. I . . . I'm not proud of those first couple of years, Bella. We stole food when we were hungry, and Vicky, well, she had other ways of making money. Diego only did it when things got bad."

"And you?" She asked.

"Thought about it. Even went with Diego once, but I just couldn't. I still thought I'd make my way back to you." Bella's face gave away nothing.

"I finally got a job at this bar/restaurant in West Hollywood though. They paid under the table. I helped clean up on Friday and Saturday nights. It wasn't much, but it helped and the owner had a soft spot for me. Used to let me take home some of the food at the end of the night. Between the three of us, we managed to eat pretty regularly.

"I'd been in L.A. about two years by then. I was on my break outside, in the back. Smoking, and yes I know, don't look at me like that. I don't smoke anymore. Anyway, some guys jumped me. They thought I was trolling for tricks, called me all kinds of names. Two of them were holding me, and a third pulled a knife. He said, 'he was sick of skinny little fags like me spreading disease' and that they were going 'to cut the gay out of me.'"

"Jesus, Edward! What happened?"

"Next thing I know someone steps in between us shouting at them to let me go. He managed to hit one of the guys holding me before he got stabbed, and managed to deck the guy with the knife before he hit the ground too. Which is sorta how I met Emmett."

Bella's eyes were huge. "Emmett saved you?"

"Yeah. The assholes ran off and left us there. I managed to get back inside and get some help, then I took off."

"You left him?"

"After I got help! There was a roomful of people helping him and 911 had already been called. I was a homeless guy working under the table at a gay bar, the owners told me to get the hell out of there. If he didn't make it, what do you think would have happened to me, or them? Anyway, I felt so bad about it I went to the hospital several days later to check on him and make sure he was alright. You know who his dad is, right?"

When Bella nodded, I continued. "Well, that meant there police were all over the place. I tried to sneak in so I could at least find out his condition. Security nabbed me at the door to his room. My stuff fell everywhere, and I was pretty sure I was in a world of trouble. But Emmett? He pipes up from his bed that I'm his friend from school and tells them to stop manhandling me, 'can't you guys see he's just a skinny art class nerd?'"

Bella laughed softly at my impersonation of Emmett.

"Anyway, he got them to let me go, but then I was stuck talking to him. I thanked him for helping and asked him how he was. He makes this face and says, 'well, they took my kidney, so I'll lose my spot in the NFL draft.' And God, I felt so bad and it must have shown on my face because he immediately stops and says, 'Shit, I'm just kidding!'"

"He joked about losing his kidney?"

"No, he really did lose the kidney. He was joking about the NFL. Emmett never wanted to go pro. I still felt awful and asked him why he would help someone like me. He just gave me this funny look and asked, 'Why wouldn't I?'

"Then I asked him what he wanted. He didn't get it. 'What I want?' he says to me. But thing is, one of the first things you learn living on the streets is that no one does anything without wanting something in return. Even the shelters and stuff, they want you to listen to them talk about God, or talk about getting off drugs, or to stop tricking, or whatever else their cause is. It makes you cynical, hard. But Em, he just . . . he said, 'well, I want to see what's in that sketchbook, then.'

"I knew he was full of shit, and I tried to get out of there, but Emmett was Emmett and he insisted on seeing it. When I tried to avoid it, he gave me a guilt trip, told me it was the least I could do seeing as he gave up a kidney for me. And well, I owed him, so I showed it to him, but left as soon as I could.

"Two weeks later he shows up at our squat. One of my drawings had been of the house and he recognized it from some weird architectural tour of L.A. an ex-girlfriend had made him take. When I told him to get lost, he said there was an old Chinese proverb that said that if you save a life, you're responsible for it after—"

"He quoted _Kung Fu_?"

I laughed at her question. "He did! Long story short, we argued for a long time before he convinced me that he needed a 'houseboy.' I told him I wouldn't suck his dick—I'd been saved by him at a gay bar after all—but he told me he was straight and well, I couldn't help but like the guy, you know?"

"He's hard not to like," Bella replied.

"Exactly! Anyway, he said he needed someone to help him around the house and having a real place to stay and earn some money sounded good. I tried to stay in touch with Diego and Vicky, but after a few months they skipped town and I never saw them again."

"So you what? Just moved in with Emmett?"

"Basically. I mean, it was really awkward at first. I stuck a chair under my doorknob every night because I wasn't sure I could trust him, but eventually he won me over. Living with Emmett, working for him, allowed me to really start exploring with my art again. I'd been sketching the whole time, but good art supplies cost money and, well, I never had it. Eventually, Emmett got me into a couple of art classes and then introduced me to a guy he'd gone to school with who owned a gallery. I started to make a little money and it was. . . it was really nice.

"I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe I'd finally be able to make you proud, to do right by both of us. And Emmett turned out to be a good friend, an amazing friend. Eventually, I told him about you, about all of you. I didn't tell him your names at first. Hell, for the first year or so I never told him my real name, but then, well things got ugly."

"Uglier than living on the streets?"

"I'd been trying to keep up with you, all of you, but I didn't have access to a lot of information. Just what I could find online and in print. I saw you, pictures of you going to some event with some good looking guy on your arm. You were smiling in the picture and I thought that you were happy without me, that you'd found someone and moved on. That's when I gave up."

"Gave up?"

"Yeah, gave up on ever getting you back and I just . . . wallowed. I kept drawing and painting, dabbled in photography. Got several jobs shooting models, started making some real money but it didn't matter. None of it mattered because I figured I'd already lost you."

"What happened, Edward?"

I didn't want to tell her about those years. Didn't want to show her the ugly underbelly of my life. But I poured us each another drink and did it anyway.

I told her about the booze and occasional drugs and the women. I told her about the times Emmett picked me up out of a puddle of my own vomit and climbed into a cold shower with me. I told her about the nameless, faceless women, and the dark, ugly places in my heart and my head.

Bella sat stone-faced as I continued to tell her how eventually I hit bottom emotionally, and how Emmett finally came to a place professionally where he was able to make really good connections for me. I told her about Jane, whose only flaw was that she loved a man who was in love with a memory. Told her how it was Jane who helped me out of the pit of despair I'd thrown myself into, and that it was Jane who made me realize I would never be able to love someone else until I either won Bella back, or let her go.

Bella interrupted me. "What um," her voice broke. "What happened to Jane?" she asked.

I smiled. "Eventually she met a really great guy, Corin. They're married and they have a baby girl. She still sends me a card at Christmas."

"Wish I'd met her," Bella said. "Maybe she could've helped me get over you sooner."

"Are you?" I asked.

"Am I what?"

"Over me?" I moved into her space, hands on the armrest of her chair, my face scant inches from hers. "Are you telling me you can't feel it anymore? Can't feel that tug in your gut when I'm in the room? Because I still feel it Bella. I _never_ _stopped_ feeling it. I feel it right now. Can't stop it. You're always inside me. A prickling under my skin and a pulse in my veins."

And for the second time since I'd come back, Bella hit me—a sharp open-handed slap.

"Damn you, Edward! You don't get to do that. You don't get to push yourself back into my life as if nothing happened. There is no going back to what it was like then. I'm not that naïve little girl anymore, Edward. I've made a new life for myself, one that doesn't include you!"

I touched my tongue to my lip gingerly, tasting copper where I bit it. "A new life, Bella? This is your new life? Chasing trouble? Getting blown up? Moving drugs? And yes, I get why. I understand wanting to help people, but what you're doing screams death wish, not new life."

"Yeah, well I _like_ what I do, Edward. And how dare you judge me? You walked away from _everything_ and left me to pick up the pieces. You gutted me, Edward. If you don't like what you see now, you can go fuck yourself. Just walk out that door right now. You know the way. You've done it before."

"God, Bella please, I didn't want to leave you but I had to!"

"No, you really didn't, Edward."

I shook my head, trying to find a way to explain it to her. "Maybe I didn't. Maybe you're right and it was the worst idea I ever had, but you need to know that I did it because I thought it was the right choice at the time. Was it stupid? Maybe. Probably. But Bella, I never did it to hurt you. I only wanted to be good for you. Worthy of you."

"You're such an idiot, Edward. You were the best thing that ever happened to me when I was younger. I don't know what happened, what I did to make you think that—"

"It wasn't you, Bella. Jesus, fuck, it was never you. It . . . you didn't hear them," I whispered.

"Who?"

"All of them. Everyone who knew us, Bella. I heard them. Heard how they all thought I was using you for your money. How you gave up going to Yale so you could stay and take care of me. Figured out that you were putting everything on hold to take care of me—because I was an utter failure at just living. And they were right, I was using you. I didn't mean to, it wasn't intentional, but you were a crutch and I allowed you to give up so much for me. Hearing it said aloud? That just put it all in perspective."

"Edward—"

"Don't you get it, Bella? Leaving you was the worst thing I've ever done, but I never did it to hurt you. I honestly thought it was for the best. I was young and stupid . . . God, I was so fucking stupid, but Bella I loved you so much that I thought I needed to set you free and I just hoped and prayed that you would still be there when I got my shit together. Believe me, I know how dumb it was. I get that now. But then? I thought I'd be making life easier for you."

Bella shook her head. "You need to go, Edward. I can't . . . I need to think." She turned her back to me.

Still, I couldn't leave it alone. I came up behind her. "Bella."

When she spun around and tried to push me away, I caught her hand and reeled her in closer. It was wrong, so wrong, but I held her tight and I kissed her anyway. Kissed her like I'd wanted to for so many years, like I'd dreamt of, like I'd remembered. I needed to know that she still felt and tasted the same as my memories, as my dreams and my hopes.

She did.

When I let her go, she pushed me away but didn't say a word. Just put her fingers up to her lips, her eyes wide and unblinking.

I stepped away and started to walk out of the room, but I stopped and turned. "You never answered me, Bella."

That snapped her out of her trance. "What?"

"If you're over me? If you can still feel it, that pull in your gut? But it's okay. I think I have my answer now."

"I hate you," she whispered.

"No, you don't, even though I know you want to."

My next stop, though it would be a difficult one, was Carlisle's. I knew he'd been in touch with Bella's doctor in Afghanistan and that he'd probably kept tabs on her recovery as well, but I hadn't seen him since the day he helped me go to her, although we'd spoken a few awkward times. I didn't know what the condition of our relationship was anymore.

In the ten months or so since he'd found me, Carlisle had become a close confidant and friend, my uncle, but after everything that had happened, I didn't know if he'd still welcome me as his nephew. He'd been helpful and stepped out of the way when Bella had first been hurt, but perhaps the benefit of time made him change his mind about me, about Bella, about giving her up. Worse, I'd hurt the only remaining member of my family, and faced the possibility of losing him after knowing him only for a short time.

When he opened the door, Carlisle's face broke into a smile. "Edward!" He pulled me into a hug and then, into the house. "How've you been?"

I noticed that some of the furniture had sheets over it, and there was a suitcase in the hallway.

"Going somewhere?"

Carlisle laughed. "No, just returned. I was in Somalia, but Mogadishu got too dangerous and we had to pull out a week and a half later. I'm just home for a few weeks until I leave for Sudan."

We'd walked into the kitchen and Carlisle had opened the fridge and was rooting around inside.

"Christ, Carlisle. Please, don't go." I hadn't meant to plead with him like that. Hell, I hadn't even known if he'd let me in the door, but the thought that something could happen to him—of the danger he courted and the risks he took—it terrified me to think the next IED could have his name on it and that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be as lucky as Bella had been.

Carlisle turned, two beers in his hand. "Hey," he said as he handed me one. "It's okay, Edward. I'm okay."

I took a long pull from the bottle before I replied. "No, Carlisle. It's really not fucking okay. Not for you, not for Bella . . ." I took a breath, "you two . . . fuck, you're both so fucked up you know that? Do either of you even think, for just a minute about the people around you? The people who love you and need you? And shit, you damned asshole, I can't even call you selfish because you're doing these things, these amazing things, but I know, okay? _I know_ why you do them and it's not selfless!"

"Edward, you're my nephew and I love you, but go fuck yourself you selfish shit! You are the king of making bad choices and hurting those around you, so don't fucking lecture me," he shouted, slamming down the bottle and cutting his hand as it shattered against the counter.

"Shit!" He grabbed a kitchen towel, wrapping it around his hand and applying pressure.

"What can I do?"

"I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, under the sink. Bring it, please?"

We spent the next ten minutes or so in silence while Carlisle bandaged his hand, and I cleaned up the glass and blood on the counter. The wound was more superficial than it seemed at first, for which I was thankful. I felt guilty enough as it was.

"I'm sorry," I told him.

"I did it to myself."

"Still, I—"

"Edward, it's not your fault, but I did mean what I said. We each deal with our demons in our own way, me, you, Bella." He gave me a rueful smile. "You don't have to like what we do. We both know no one liked how you chose to deal with yours, but you don't get to attack me for mine."

"It's . . . Damn it, Carlisle, I just found you. I don't want to lose you, even if you don't want anything to do with me again."

"Why wouldn't I?"

I tore the label off my bottle of beer and toyed with it a moment before whispering, "Bella."

Carlisle closed his eyes and shook his head. "In a different time and place, maybe Bella and I could have had something, but Edward, she was never mine to lose. How could I hold that against you?"

"I may have. Lost her, I mean. I just told her everything." I followed him into the other room.

He pointed at his hand before tilting a bottle of scotch at me. "I need something a little stronger." After pouring and taking a sip, he continued. "I knew everything. Emmett knew everything. Jane knew everything. None of us went screaming for the hills, why would you think Bella would?"

"Because I was a selfish asshole and I left her? Because I slept with other women during that time? Because I lived on the streets? Stole? Drank too much? I don't know, the list is long, Carlisle."

He sat on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Edward, you're right. You were a selfish asshole and you left her. And for that, maybe she won't forgive you. I don't know. But the rest? We all have an ugly side. We've all done things we're not proud of or wish we could have done differently. Even Bella. It's called life.

"When you first told me about her, before I knew who she really was, I told you that I supported you and hoped you'd win her back, and that hasn't changed. But I also warned you back then that not everything can be fixed and sometimes we just have to move forward and do our best. Maybe it's time you at least considered what that would mean for you."

"And if I can't?"

He gave a bitter laugh. "Then you wind up with a nephew yelling at you."

"Carlisle, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that." I held up my hand when he tried to interrupt. "Don't. Let me get this out. Seven years ago I made the stupidest mistake of my life, and I'll always regret the pain I caused the people I love. Maybe if I'd stayed you would have found me sooner, and I would have gotten to enjoy more time with my uncle." I gave him a rueful smile before continuing. "But that's on me, and it's not fair of me to demand that you stick around now when I'm the one that wasted so much time. I just need you to know that I love you and I'm proud of what you do, even if it scares the crap out of me. It's your life to live how you see fit, and I'm just glad that I get to be a part of it now."

"Jesus Edward, when you're contrite you're something else, you know that?" He rubbed his hand over his face. "You're right though. I can't keep doing this. Or, at least maybe I need to take my own advice and start moving forward. I can't back out of going to Sudan. I've already told them I would and I don't want to leave them short a doctor. After though . . . after, I think maybe I'll take a vacation. A real one and, well, we'll see what happens."

We talked a little longer. He was leaving for Sudan in two weeks. I promised to see him before he left, and then I headed home. I walked, using the time to think about my conversation with Bella, the way it felt to hold her and kiss her once more. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I didn't see the man in front of me, until I'd walked right into him.

"Crap! I'm so sorry. I should've watched where I was going."

"That's alright, don't worry about it."

I began to walk up the steps to my place.

"Actually, I was waiting for you, Edward."

"Excuse me, do I know?" I turned to look at him.

"No, but we have a few mutual acquaintances."

"I don't think—"

He held out his hand. "My name is Aro. Aro Volturi. And I think it's time we had a talk."


End file.
